Tavington and Lyra
by Rosemary-NZ
Summary: *REWORKED & COMPLETE* The Green Dragoons target the families of known rebel militiamen, beating, bloodying and raping their way across the Santee to draw Martin out of hiding. In an attempt to escape her abusive stepfather, Lyra Mathan heads for Charles Town and is almost safely out of the Santee when Tavington comes across her and orders her taken captive. STRICTLY ADULTS ONLY.
1. Chapter 1 - Church on Sunday

Chapter One: Church on Sunday

The cart rolled and jolted its slow way into Pembroke.

"Woah," Thomas Smith pulled the reins, halting the horse, bringing the cart to an abrupt stop when a group of children darted across the dirt packed road, almost under the horses hooves. He chuckled indulgently and jerked the reigns again, the horse clipped clopped steadily toward the church.

Lyra gazed at the villagers as they made their way toward the white steepled building, everyone wearing their Sunday finest. The men serving in the rebel militia had discarded their travel worn, beaten and stained tan leathers and heavy woolens for fresh cottons and linens, the women put away their usual day wear for the fine dresses they kept for special occasions, weddings, church and the like. Mostly cotton and woolens, but here and there Lyra spied silks such as she herself wore.

Mrs. Charlotte Selton, for example, gliding along at Benjamin Martin's side, her bodice and skirts were the finest silk, and newly made too - where Lyra's were older and showed some small signs of damage no matter how much care Sally took.

A quick glance over her shoulder showed Sally, sitting in the back of the cart, where she would remain throughout the service. Slaves were not permitted in the church with white folk, after all. Lyra gave the older woman a tremulous small smile, and received a reassuring nod in exchange.

Smith jumped down from the cart and offered her his hand to assist her. She climbed down carefully, holding her skirts away from her ankles so they would not snag her feet and trip her. The last thing she wanted was to end up sprawled in the dirt.

Taking her stepfather's arm, Lyra was led across the street toward the church gate. Catching sight of Gabriel Martin, she stifled a gasp and averted her gaze, quickly in case her stepfather noticed her interest in the young man. She stole quick glances in his direction; Gabriel, however, was far too intent on Anne Howard to notice Lyra Mathan.

Anne's family, Patriot through and through, owned a supply store in Pembroke and were quite wealthy. She and her mother where the only other women wearing silks. Unlike herself, Anne was pretty with her dark hair and bright blue eyes, she had a fine figure. She was kind and friendly, outspoken and sharp of wit. And she held Gabriel's heart in her pocket.

Comparatively, Lyra was shy, not outspoken. By no means stupid, she hardly considered herself sharp of wit. She was not pretty, either. No - Lyra was beautiful. With her curly white blonde hair and her large green eyes, her heart shaped face, she was beautiful in a way that had men staring, as the men of Pembroke did now as she passed them by.

Lyra lowered her eyes, she always did, as more than one pair of eyes gazed at her frankly. It made her skin crawl, she wanted to return to the cart and hide in the back with Sally. Wives of the men staring swatted at their husband's arms, some even gripping tightly and dragging their husbands away, with a scowl cast in Lyra's direction which made her sigh, she certainly did not invite their husbands attentions, and had no desire for them.

Her breath caught when she spied Gabriel Martin, the only man present not shooting her quick glances. If he stared at her the way the other men did, she would not mind at all. With his blonde hair and brown eyes, he was a dream.

She continued on by, strolling at her stepfather's side. Well liked, handsome and just shy of forty years, Thomas Smith was hailed warmly. He raised his hand and waved, slapped companions on the back in greeting. Lyra hung back and smiled politely, not engaging in their conversations. Most of the talk centered on the Green Dragoons, the latest raids and skirmishes, the ever growing rebel militia ranks.

_Patriot militia, _Lyra chided herself as she glanced around at the men who had risked coming out of hiding to converge in such a public place. Every second Sunday, the men laid down their weapons to attend Reverend Oliver's sermons.

Oliver himself greeted his flock as they entered the church, nodding and smiling warmly, holding hands with the women as they passed him. He clasped Lyra's hand in both of his, the two spoke quietly before Smith led her into the church. Finding herself sitting beside Mrs. Charlotte Selton, Lyra shifted uncomfortably. Charlotte was polite, friendly even, though Lyra found the older woman intimidating. Then again, Lyra found most women intimidating, always glaring at her.

Benjamin Martin leaned forward to speak quietly to her around Charlotte and Lyra replied in quiet tones. She was grateful when Oliver came forward to begin the ceremony, for no matter how polite and warm and friendly he was to her, Benjamin was still the leader of the rebel militia, he was the Ghost, and it terrified Lyra no end.

**_Patriot_**_ militia!_ Lyra chided herself again. _Say 'rebel' militia aloud here and see what happens, I dare you!_

Nonetheless, they were traitors for their rebellion against the Crown. Lyra's English born father, dead for many long years now, would be rolling in his grave, as would her more recently deceased mother. Though she was South Carolina born and bred, her mother had been a Loyalist through and through. What possessed her to marry a Patriot after Lyra's father passed away, she did not know. Nor was she ever likely to find out, her dear mother had passed away two years ago now.

The sermon was long, Oliver was making up for lost time it seemed. Her bottom was sore from sitting too long on the hard bench by the end. Eventually, however, the Reverend closed his Bible and looked down on his flock from the pulpit and after leading them in a prayer for the fallen soldiers, and a plea for victory for the Patriots, he announced the service finished.

The men, including Reverend Oliver would depart Pembroke with their families, remain in their homes for the evening before picking up their weapons again and resuming their fight against the British.

The villagers filed out of the church and milled for a long while, chatting until they finally began to disperse. Lyra spoke briefly with Anne and Gabriel, she tried to keep her eyes on Anne for the most part, her heart pounded when she gazed at Gabriel.

"I have been thinking, Lyra. It is awfully lonely on that farm of yours and it is becoming unsafe out there now with the Green Dragoons getting closer by the day. I've spoken to mother and she agreed - and, well - I thought you might like to come and live with us."

"Truly, Anne?" Lyra put her hand to her throat, her eyes wide with astonishment. "You would let me live with you? It does get terribly lonely and I am frightened of the slightest noise and... Well, that would be wonderful!" She glanced over her shoulder at Thomas Smith, speaking with Mr. Howard only a pace or so away. He had kept an eye on Lyra, and an ear out for her conversation as he always did, and he was already shaking his head in the negative. Lyra lowered her eyes, crestfallen.

_I should have known._

"Come now, Thomas!" Mr. Howard said in defense of Anne's plan. "She is alone out there, with only her maid to aid her. Honestly, the farm is no place for her - it is getting too hot out there."

Of course, Mr. Howard was not speaking of the weather.

"I will think on it," Thomas said, with his gaze still on Lyra.

_Which means no. He simply does not want to get into an argument with feisty Anne Howard in the middle of the village. _

A short time later, her stepfather led her back to their cart.

Lyra sighed again as they departed the village. They travelled along the roads with the other carts and men on horseback, until they turned down the road that would eventually lead them to their farmhouse. Any moment now, when they had the road to themselves, her stepfather would reach for her hand. When he was sure there no one else except for Sally the slave, to bear witness, he would place her soft hand on the hard bulge between his legs.

_So well liked... _The face he showed the villagers was not at all the face he showed her, or her late mother before she died. Lyra often wondered if he had killed her - she had been beaten and bruised so often, Lyra wondered if she had simply laid down and died.

Mrs. Bryant told her that it was ridiculous, her mother would never leave Lyra with such a brute, her mother had died of an illness and there had been nothing they could do. But Mrs. Bryant had not lived on the farm for two years now, Smith had sent Lyra's Governess packing almost as soon as her mother was in the grave.

_Hmmm, yes, here we go again, right on cue. _

As expected, Smith took Lyra's hand as they passed under a canopy of trees lining the long road, and he pressed it against his erection.

She had discussed it with Sally, who, at twenty-five years old, was so much older and wiser than seventeen year old Lyra. They both believed he found it amusing to show such a kind and gentle nature to the world, and in turn be such a brute to his step daughter. She did not protest of course, the first few beatings had been more than enough to dissuade her. Instead she applied pressure and he sighed with pleasure as she circled her palm around and around.

They would be home, shortly, and he would be taking her into her room. She would sit on the edge of her bed and pleasure him with her hands as he stood before with his breeches around his thighs, until he spilled his seed somewhere on the coverlets on her bed.

She was still a virgin, thankfully, but it was only the fear of getting her with child that stopped him from taking it that far, Lyra and Sally pinioned.

::::::::::

"Father?" Why he insisted on her calling him that, considering his plans, was beyond her. "I was thinking, perhaps it would be a good idea for me to go and live with the Howard's in Pembroke."

"That little minx has been in your ear again, hasn't she?" He grated. In Thomas' opinion that Anne Howard was nothing but trouble. Two months had passed since she first suggested Lyra move to Pembroke and reside with the Howard's and Thomas had known then that he had not heard the last of it.

"Well... Yes, she mentioned it again this morning, she speaks of it every time we attend church, now. But it makes sense, don't you think? You are gone from the farm for longer and longer these days, and what if those Dragoons do come by? It gets frightening out here, and it is hard on Sally and I, looking after ourselves and the farm. Do you think -"

"No," Thomas scowled at his stepdaughter. She looked so much like her mother it, so beautiful, it took his breath away. He had lost count of the number of men that approached him to discuss a match between their sons and Lyra. By Hades, some of those men were asking for her for themselves! Widowers and older gentlemen who had never married. He fended them off, one and all. "Do you want old Howard chasing you around the house, trying to get into your skirts?"

"He wouldn't -"

"Lord, you are a stupid thing sometimes. He would, as would most of the men in Pembroke. No, if I left you there, the next time I returned you'd be married to one of those little bastards that are too cowardly to join the militia and fight for our country, our freedom." And all of Thomas' plans, all the waiting, would come to naught. He would be her husband, the moment she turned eighteen, come hell of high water.

_How far to push him? _Lyra wondered. His mind was set, that much was clear, no amount of arguing would change it. She wanted to live with Anne but... One look into his eyes decided her. To push was to be beaten again, and she did not want that. He had not had to hit her for many months now.

"Very well," she lowered her eyes.

"Sally!" He bellowed for the slave, "is that washing dry yet? I have to pack!"

At least he will be gone soon, only one more night.

It was so much more pleasant without him there, the constant threat of violence and outbursts of temper unsettled Lyra and Sally's nerves. The slave was spared his attentions but not his anger, and though the woman belonged to Lyra, there was nothing she could do to protect her. She could not even protect herself.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Journey to CT Begins

_Authors note - Please read chapter one first, I do not think a notification email would have been sent because I 'replaced' the contents of the chapter. And sorry, but there is a little bit of ickiness in this chapter._

**Chapter Two - The Journey to Charles Town Begins**

Later in the evening Thomas came to her, as he did every night he was stayed at the house. It was the usual routine, she sat up on the edge of the bed and he waited while she unbuckled his belt and drew down his breeches.

_Tomorrow, I will be free of him for a couple weeks,_ Lyra thought as she stroked his length the way he had taught her.

"Lord you are beautiful, Lyra," Thomas gazed down at her and toyed gently with her white blonde curls. She hated being called beautiful, detested it. It only bought her trouble. Her own stepfather, visiting her bed. The women of Pembroke, scowling because their husbands stared. Nothing good ever came from her 'beauty'.

She quickened her pace, stroking him harder in the hope he would finish quickly and go away.

He groaned deep in his throat, bucking back and forth in her grip, his hand now trailing along her neck - it felt like spiders crawling across her skin. Reaching inside her shift, his rough and calloused hand kneaded her breast. She cupped his pouch gently and he gasped.

"You are so good at that..." he whispered.

_Yes, I am ever so accomplished_, Lyra rolled her eyes, it was dim enough that he could not see. His grip on her breast was tight, any tighter and it would be painful. His other wrapped in her wealth of hair at the back of her head, gripping tightly. She winced, waiting for the inevitable pull, as he always did when he climaxed.

"Ah, ah - yes..." his moans grew louder, and he bucked frantically. She moved her hand from his pouch to the tip of his erection, slowly caressing around the helmet while her tight fist hand continued tugging up and down. Lyra gripped him harder and dragged her hand down to the base of his shaft as his member began to twitch beneath her fingers.

"Aggghhhhh!" He hissed through his gritted teeth and clutched her hair. Lyra winced with pain though she still had the presence of mind to aim him away from her, his seed shooting along his length to land safely elsewhere - not on her.

_Finally! _Lyra sighed_. I won't have to do that again, for a couple of weeks, anyway. _

"Hmmm," he sighed, sated now, his hands moving through her hair again, rubbing the back of her scalp where he had pulled too hard. "To think, it will not be long now, we will be married, your virginity will finally be mine. And I will be able to teach you so much more than I have so far."

She tied the front of her shift in silence, nowhere as eager for that day as her stepfather was.

"I tried for years to get your mother with child. But you... You will bare me a son, many sons."

Lyra remained silent, hands folded in her lap, her head bowed.

_Lord he is as eager for children as he is for my dowry. No, not children - sons. He only ever speaks of boys, not girls. _She gave a mental shrug, he would not get her with child either, for she planned to drink the same infusion of tea her mother had taken to ward off pregnancy. She remembered all the arguments, all the times Thomas had raged at her mother for being too useless to bare him a son. Of course her mother could conceive, she had born Lyra after all. Nevertheless, Thomas never guessed the truth, never learned that her mother deliberately prevented her stomach from swelling.

Suddenly, Thomas seized her chin, his fingers pressed into her jaw on either side as he jerked her head back. He leaned in close, his breath hot on her face, and she gasped with fright and pain.

"What... Father - what is it?" A breathy whisper, she had no idea what she had done wrong.

Nose to nose, he studied her face intently. "We will be married soon, Lyra. I expected a little more excitement from you!"

_Lord, he is mad! _

"I am sorry, I am tired is all. I am looking forward to it, I am!"

_Oh, please believe! Please believe! God, it hurts! _

"Perhaps you need a little convincing?"

Expecting a beating, Lyra shook her head, a sobbing gasp burst past her lips. "No, papa, I am truly! Only another month or so until my birthday and -"

"Lay back on the bed, Lyra."

Suddenly understanding, she drew in deep ragged breaths, trying to calm herself. He would not beat her, but she was not comforted. Still sniffling, with shaking fingers she pulled up her shift and lay back on the bed, her legs dangled over the side. Kneeling on the floor before her, he parted her thighs and she closed her eyes as he began pushing her folds aside with his rough fingers.

He did not do it very often, preferring to receive pleasure rather than give it. Not that she _got_ much pleasure from it. A small tension built within her, a weak pulsing warmth, as his fingers moved over her quim. His free hand moved under her shift to her breasts, his finger circling her nipple and kneading her breast. Lyra was quiet throughout, though her breathing changed, deepened a little as the tension increased. His fingers moved faster and the tension broke, a pitiful wave of... something... washed over her briefly and was gone.

She could not understand it, herself. It felt... all right... But when she tugged his erection he moaned and grunted, panted and gasped. And all for this? It hardly seemed worth the effort, to her thinking.

He removed his hand from between her legs and she sat up again. Her tears still wet on her cheeks, she licked her lips and swallowed, hoping he was done now. Still kneeling before her, he stroked her jaw gently.

"Are you convinced? I know you enjoyed it."

"I was already convinced, father."

"There will be bruises," he murmured. "You must not anger me, Lyra."

"I am sorry, I did not mean anything by it, truly," she loathed herself sometimes. Loathed her lack of bravery - would Ann Howard put up with this from _her_ father? Would Charlotte Selton?

_Such a coward. And this man isn't even my father..._

"Good. Do not be stupid, like your mother. I do not ask much of you, only that you give me a son," his hand stroking her jaw moved to caress her hair. "I will bring a gift back for you, to celebrate your birthday. What would you like?"

"I am not sure. I have run out of charcoal and parchment, perhaps you could bring me some? Or some oils? New brushes?"

_Just play along, he will be gone... Wait, does this mean he will not be back until my birthday? A whole month!_

She smiled with pleasure at the thought, and Thomas thought the smile was for him.

"That's better Lyra," he murmured. He rose and pulled up his breeches. "Not much longer now, and you will be mine."

_And my dowry will be too... My inheritance - you can burn that away as you did my mother's._

"Yes, papa. Not much longer now."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Who is that?" Sally stood on the porch, shading her eyes from the afternoon sun, the glare made the occupants of the approaching cart indistinct - shadowed in black...

Lyra looked up from her drawing, it was a portrait of Gabriel Martin. Her stepfather had returned two weeks before her birthday, giving her oils and charcoals, pencils and parchment. It had been the same routine of course, he came to her bedroom for the two nights he was there, but then he left again when Benjamin and the other rebels came to collect him. Gabriel's face was still fresh in her memory, it was a pity she would not be able to keep the portrait - she would have to burn it in case her 'fiancé' found it.

Thomas had told her he would not be there to mark her birthday but as soon as he returned they would marry. It had always been his intent to do so as soon as she turned eighteen, but that was three weeks ago now.

_I've not seen him for five weeks now, perhaps he is dead..._

She doubted it, however, she could never be so lucky. No, he was one of Benjamin's Captains in the rebel militia, he was simply too busy, she suspected. Either way, dead or busy, Lyra was thankful for the reprieve.

"Not Thomas, I hope..."

"He does not arrive on a cart, Miss."

"Who is it? A woman, I think!" She leaned forward intently. "Oh. My. God! Mrs. Bryant!" Shrieking with joy, Lyra lurched off the porch and ran for the cart.

The African driving slowed the horse, and Mrs. Eleanor Bryant jumped down and hugged her former charge.

"Oh, let me look at you! So tall now! Look at your figure! So fine! Have you kept up with your lessons? You better have done!" The former Governess' British accent was tainted with the South Carolinian drawl, she had been in the colonies for a very long time.

"I have, Sally helps me!" Lyra clutched tight at the older woman, her stomach leaping with joy, her face was soon wet with tears. "I have missed you so much! Why have you come? Thomas sent you away and I thought I would never see you again."

Eleanor was contrite, sighing deeply, she pushed Lyra away from her and held her at arms length to study her brusquely, trying to keep her own tears at bay. "Well, I had no intention of leaving you in his care forever, though there was nothing I could do before you turned eighteen. He is not here, is he?"

"No, he is out with the rebels. What do you mean, Mrs. Bryant?"

"I mean, you are eighteen now, and are old enough to take yourself away from that despicable man's imprisonment. We are away, you and I. Sally too, of course - she's yours after all. Tomorrow, at the first break of dawn, we are leaving for Charles Town, to claim your birthright and have you married before that cretin comes for you."

Stunned. Her green eyes large in her face, her lips parted, Lyra stared at her Governess. Stunned.

"I.. I can't leave..."

"Of course you can," Eleanor said firmly, already turning to the cart to retrieve her small travel bag. "As I said, you and Sally and I - tomorrow morning." She swept past Lyra and headed toward the house. "Sally! Lyra will need her belongings packed - all of her mother's silks also. Everything that she owns, from whatever jewelry that cretin has not sold off, down to her garters - it all needs to be packed and on the cart, we leave in the morning."

"Yes mam!" Sally bounced on her toes with excitement.

Lyra finally remembered to breathe. Drawing air in a loud gasp, she turned slowly, her eyes still wide with astonishment, and no little fear. She pressed her hands to her stomach and walked unsteadily toward Eleanor.

"Mrs. Bryant," she whispered. "He will come for me, he will punish me. I can not -"

"And how, my dear, is a rebel going to come for you in British occupied Charles Town? Darling, I will not pretend that this will be a safe journey. However, once we are out of the Santee, we will be home free. The day after tomorrow, you will be in Charles Town. The journey usually only takes a day, but that old nag," she pointed with disdain at the horse leading the cart, "is slow and... well... _old_, and not very strong. But she is all I could get on short notice. This is Arcam - he is one of your families slaves, and has been living at the manor, managing its upkeep. He agreed to come with me -"

"Agreed?" the African snorted. "She dragged me out of my blankets, she did, and would have whipped me harder than I whipped this here nag!"

Eleanor ignored him. "He agreed to come with me, and now here we are, and we are away."

"My families manor?" Lyra whispered. "It has been so long. I always thought Thomas had sold it -"

"Now how could he have sold it, when you were not to inherit it until you turned eighteen? Of course, he is your stepfather and you are of age now, so he could sell it. But no - darling. We will get there first, get you married and you need never be in fear of him again."

"Oh... It is like a dream... I want to - I truly do, but Mrs. Bryant. I am so frightened!"

"I know. It is a sudden, and very big thing I am asking you to do. But if you do not - he will marry you, bed you every night, spend all your money as he did your mother. It is your choice, stay and wed that... that cretin! Or come with me now, and start a new life that he has no place in."

"Lord... I will come with you," her voice was thin and high. But she said it, and it was settled. The very next morning the small group headed out of the house, Lyra closed the door firmly behind her and hoped she would never see the horrid little farmhouse or her stepfather, again.


	3. Chapter 3 - Officers and Gentlemen

Chapter Three: The Green Dragoons - Officers and Gentlemen

"Thank you so much for letting us stay the night," Lyra took hold of the goodwife's hand and squeezed it gently. Mrs. Roberton and been kind and generous.

"It was my pleasure. It has been frightening out here, and the farm is neglected... Thank you for having your man chop all that firewood! With winter coming, I was afraid I would not have enough warmth."

"I wonder when the war will end..." Lyra mused as Arcam drove the cart around from the side of the house. "Your husband will be able to return to you when it is over. For now, perhaps you should go to Pembroke, and stay with the other families there? Safety in numbers."

"I have thought of it several times, believe me. Those Dragoons are wreaking havoc out there and it is only a matter of time before they come this way."

Eleanor sniffed. "The Green Dragoons are officers and gentleman," she said primly. "Three quarters of them are made up of your own colonial men."

"Traitors, the lot of them," the goodwife snapped. She had not gotten along with the British born governess, not at all. "Tories! _They_ are not 'my own' colonial men. No, my own man is out there, fighting for freedom. And gentleman? Hardly that - I have heard all sorts of stories -"

"Exaggerations, the Ghost has told many of those lately, to discredit the Dragoons and the British army. Cornwallis has made it clear - if a soldier attacks, or rapes a woman, he is to be court marshaled - his life will end with a noose around his neck!"

"Tell that to the Coplands - who lost their farm just last week, and whose daughter was, indeed, raped. Tell that to Mr. Walters - he runs the apothecary in Pembroke - his daughter was raped recently also! Why in the world do you want to go to Charles Town," the woman asked Lyra. "Right into the Lion's maw!"

"I have business there," she said gently, though images of raped women and burned out farms where flooding her mind.

"Arcam!" Eleanor snapped. "Are you ready now? Where is Sally?"

"I am here, Mrs. Bryant," Sally appeared in the doorway, carrying Lyra's packed travel bag. The rest of her belongings had been left on the cart.

"Right then, at the rate we are traveling, we will be in Charles Town by the afternoon," Eleanor's voice was crisp. "The sooner gone, the sooner there. Thank you for the shelter, Mrs. Roberton. Most kind of you."

"You are welcome."

She had only been reunited with her Governess for a day, but already the woman's training came back to her. Lyra gave the goodwife a small curtsy, and glided to the steps of the front porch. It felt good having Mrs. Bryant's influence again, Lyra felt she might almost resemble Mrs. Charlotte Selton, whose baring was always regal and dignified.

The sound of thunder drew Lyra's attention.

The thunderous noise was getting closer. All four women, and Arcam, glanced toward the sound. They could hear them well before they could see them, men on horseback, at least one hundred, riding hard down the road that ran alongside the farmhouse. A banner rose from the group of men, but Lyra was perplexed, she had no idea what the banner represented.

Mrs. Roberton did, however. "Green Dragoons!" She shrieked. "Run!"

Suiting her words, the goodwife turned on her heels and ran, sprinting with deer like swiftness over the flat paddock and straight into the woods.

"Mrs. Bryant?" Lyra asked, turning to her former Governess with growing fright.

"Mrs. Roberton is quite right. They are wearing redcoats, they are Green Dragoons."

"Should we run?" Lyra turned back to the Green Dragoons baring down on them at break neck speed. "It is too late."

"And unnecessary in any case. You are a Loyalist, trying to make your way to Charles Town, remember? You do not have anything to fear from these soldiers, as I said most of them are your own Colonials. Their leader is one Colonel Tavington, a British Officer and a Gentleman."

"They call him the Butcher," Lyra said nervously, and Eleanor sniffed with disdain. Her manner was so calm, so confident, and Lyra found herself relaxing as the men drew closer. Some of them rode into the yard before the house, while others split off, galloping into the woods after the fleeing Patriot woman.

Lyra's fear returned, bile burned her throat - she could not see, but she heard the goodwife scream. Mrs. Roberton's words rattled in her skull - the apothecaries daughter, raped. The Copland's daughter, raped. Her eyes where wide and she swallowed hard, glancing at Eleanor once more for reassurance.

The Green Dragoons circled the house, and those in the yard dismounted to approach her. The one with badges indicating his rank as Colonel removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he strode up the steps toward her. Older than Sally, Lyra guessed he had twenty-eight years at least. An imposing man, tall, far taller than Lyra, with a regal, arrogant bearing. His cold pale blue eyes a stark contrast to his dark hair.

His boots made loud thuds on the wooden steps of the porch. His pale gaze held hers as he strode forward to stand before her. He loomed, his body ramrod straight, one arm looped behind his back.

Lyra clutched at her skirts, trying to steady her shaking hands. Sweat beaded her brow, but no matter how she tried, she could not pull her green gaze away from his cold, pale blue. She felt pinned, frozen by his stare alone. His eyes quickly darted over her, taking her in from head to toe, back up to her eyes.

"Colonel William Tavington, Green Dragoons," a husky drawl. "Your name?"

"Lyra Mathan," she whispered. She coughed and tried again, in a stronger tone. "Miss Lyra Mathan."

His cold eyes roamed over her again. She was accustomed to being stared at, as much as she detested it, but this man's gaze was disconcerting, it seemed to take her in completely, reveal all of her secrets.

"Are you going on a journey, Miss Mathan?" He eyed the cart, and Arcam.

"Ah, yes. I am going to Charles Town."

"Charles Town?" His eyes widened with surprise. "And what business does a young _Patriot_ woman have, in Charles Town?"

"Miss Mathan is a Loyalist, Colonel Tavington," Eleanor snapped. "And her business is her own."

He turned his cold stare on the former Governess. "Indeed? A Loyalist. Not many of those left in these parts." His tone was dubious, clearly disbelieving. "Tell me, Miss Mathan. Where is the Ghost? What do you know of the rebels activities?"

Quite a lot, as it happened. Thomas Smith had been quite forthcoming about the rebels activities, where their camp was, the ever increasing number of Patriots flocking to join the militia's ranks - even some women had joined, fighting right alongside their husbands.

Of course, for Lyra to admit any of this, she would have to explain _how_ she had learned of it. Tavington would discover that her stepfather was one of Benjamin Martin's own higher ranking Officers, a Captain in the rebel army. It was clear that he did not believe her a Loyalist, and visions of being taken hostage and raped whirled through her mind.

"I am sorry, my Lord," is that the correct address for a Colonel? Lyra had no idea. She continued nervously. "I do not know anything about the rebels or Benjamin Martin."

His face became hard as ice, frosty and chill. "Really. You know nothing about the rebels. And yet you know that Benjamin Martin is the Ghost."

He stared at her intently as she drew in a sharp breath. Eleanor shifted restlessly beside her, and Lyra shot her a quick glance. The older woman shook her head imperceptibly, willing the young girl to be silent, she had already said too much. Tavington had asked about the _Ghost_, not Benjamin Martin by name. Terror coursed through her as a vision flashed in her mind of Tavington holding her down, his eyes blazing above hers as pinned her to the ground and forced himself on her.

Uncertainty warred within her, her loyalties pushed to their limit. Lyra Mathan was a Loyalist but she had known the Martin family for a very long time. He had always been kind to her, and then of course, there was Gabriel... She had already mentioned Martin's name, however, and she had herself to protect.

"Yes, my Lord. I learned of it from a woman who had tended a rebel, who had been wounded in a skirmish."

Thomas Smith had been skewered in the thigh with a saber, and had made his way back to the farmhouse after being separated from the rest of his troop. Lyra herself had tended his wound.

Tavington tilted his chin, keeping his gaze was on her. A small smile played about his lips.

"Well well," he drawled. "We only learned the identity of the Ghost the day before yesterday. All this time, all we had to do was visit this farm..."

Lyra blinked uncertainly. She did not understand his meaning. She was wading deeply in undercurrents that could pull her under and drown her at any moment.

"How many lives do you think may have been saved, if you had been Loyal, and provided us with this information earlier? Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow.

"My Lord, I -" her voice was a whisper.

"She is Loyal, Sir," Eleanor repeated firmly and Lyra almost sagged with relief. "Miss Mathan comes from a Loyalist family, one of the few left in the area, and as she has told you, we are fleeing to the safety of Charles town."

"Really. A Loyalist who chose not to reveal the identity of the Ghost. Does not sound very _loyal_ to me." His smile quirked his lips.

"My Lord, I am sorry. I did not think -" breathing heavily, her gaze imploring at the stern Colonel. "I did not know how -"

Fury flared over his face, leaning closer he whispered quietly, "The British Legion has had a very firm presence in these parts for months. You would have seen Officers pass your very home on a weekly basis in the last month alone. Tell me again how you 'did not know how.'"

"My Lord, please," Lyra choked back her terror. "I do not live here, this is not my farm!" Desperate now, the words poured from her. "I live on the other side of the Santee - with my maid, Sally. We are there alone most the the time and there is _no_ British Legion there - no Redcoat presence! I could not have gotten word to any of you even if I had thought of it and -"

"Even if you had thought of it?" His top lip curled.

Lyra lowered her eyes and bowed her head, her chest heaved as she gasped for breath.

"Sir, you can not expect her to think like a soldier, she is only just turned eighteen!"

"Either she is a rebel who has revealed more than she meant to, in which case she will suffer the same fate as the other rebel women captured, or she is a Loyalist who failed her duty to the Crown!" Tavington snapped.

Turning on his heel, he commanded, "Fire the house, and destroy the livestock. Bring her."

"Wait!" Lyra cried with fear, stepping forward. _Bring me where? What rebel women - Lord - what fate!_

He turned back to her, eyebrows raised contemptuously.

"My Lord," she tried again. "I am sorry that I could not get word to -"

"Could not?" His piercing gaze silenced her. "By your own admission, you _did not think of it_. A Loyalist," he scoffed under his breath and glanced at a nearby Dragoon. "Bordon, how many times have you heard that? I, for one, have lost count."

"I also, Sir. As you said, she sounds more like a rebel who has revealed more than she should have. What of these others?" Bordon glanced at the other women, one of them a slave.

"Leave them." He said curtly.

"No, please - you don't understand -" Lyra took an unsteady step forward.

Tavington eyed her again, then commanded sharply, "find something to gag her with." Before turning and striding away.

She could not believe it – the Dragoon reached for her, and one came forward to push Eleanor back, the woman was protesting loudly. Sally was crying in earnest and Arcam watched from the cart, bewildered.

Lyra felt her world falling apart.

The soldier tried to push a wad of cloth into her mouth. She had never protected herself before, beyond putting her hands up to cover her face when Thomas beat her, and it surprised her utterly when she grabbed the soldier's arm and sunk her teeth into his gloved hand.

He bellowed with pain and snatched his hand back.

She had not even seen Colonel Tavington return – suddenly she was spun about and in a flash of agony she found herself on the ground staring up at him. He had sent her reeling with the back of his hand.

Eyes wide with fear, Lyra recoiled from his piercing glare. His face twisted with fury, he raised his arm back ready to strike her a second time. Instead, he eased his expression and knelt before her, gently trailing one gloved finger down the side of her cheek, studying her intently with his cold blue eyes.

With quick, sure movements, he unwound the white scarf encircling his neck, and roughly shoved it into her mouth, tying it around her head. She tried to push his arms away as he worked, but he was strong, and the Dragoon she had bitten grabbed her arms, pinning them down.

"Put her on the back of your horse, Captain Bordon." Colonel Tavington ordered coldly, and Bordon jerked her to her feet, leading her away.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Green Eyed Beauty

_A/N - thanks to the special guest person who left a review for chapter three, I'm glad you're loving it! _

_:-) _

_Reviews are welcome, good, bad or ugly, always. Thanks again!_

_P.S - sexy sex coming up in the next chapter - obviously! Be warned though, he's a bit of a brutal bastard, it is Tavington after all... _

**Chapter Four - The Green Eyed Beauty**

They stopped often to rest the horses and at midday, they stopped for a longer respite. The scarf Tavington had shoved into her mouth was still in place, itchy and uncomfortable and wet from her saliva, but she did not dare remove it.

Bordon, who had been silent for the most part, reached around and took her harm to help her dismount. Lyra fell from the horse and dropped heavily to her feet, gripping the straps on the saddle for support. Bordon's dismount was far more graceful.

"Stamp your legs to get them working, then follow me," he said curtly. She did as she was told, too terrified to try anything that would test his patience. She had seen so much horror in the last few hours, farmstead after farmstead fired, livestock destroyed, people attacked and killed, a growing number of girls riding fearfully on the back of Dragoon horses. She decided the only way to survive this was to keep silent and small, as she did with her stepfather, and as obedient to their commands.

When her legs where working, she followed Bordon, who set a slow pace, over to a few tree logs.

"Sit here, someone will bring food for you," he frowned down at her. "For Lord's sake, why didn't you remove it?" With a toss of his head, he untied the scarf. "Your hands were not bound, you could have taken it off at any time."

"I did not want to cause more trouble," she lowered her eyes.

"Well, it is never to late to learn that lesson, I suppose." He stomped away and soon Lyra was surrounded by the other captives, some weeping fearfully, some shooting fearful glances at the Dragoons. None of them spoke.

They were given food to eat and water to drink, four Dragoons stood nearby making sure the girls consumed it all. Those that refused where forced.

All in all, it was not a pleasant lunch stop.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Colonel Tavington moving about the camp. He ignored the captives for the most part, except to glance their way occasionally, she averted her eyes whenever he looked over.

She had not been so frightened of anyone since her Stepfather. Tavington seemed even more frightful than Thomas. He had a coldness to him, an anger he kept under careless control, and he had already proven he could unleash it without care.

Lyra pushed away the foreboding in her belly, and finished her plate of food, and her drink. It was time to move on. The afternoon's journey was the same as the mornings, more farmsteads burned, people killed and more girls taken.

Now it was coming on to evening, and Lyra's fear grew steadily. It would be the pit of hell to be forced to the blankets of these Dragoons, but she suspected that was to be her fate. She wondered how many would take her during the night, and if she would still be sane by the morning.

::::::::::::::::::::::

"Well, what do you think? A rebel who said too much and back tracked, claiming to be a Loyalist, or is she a Loyalist as she claims?"

"What is the difference, Bordon?" Tavington asked as he poured himself a dram from the flask. "The girl knew the identity of the Ghost! All this time - if she had not been so witless, we could have had Martin in hand months ago!"

A faint grimace as the fiery whiskey burned down his throat, its fire warming him slowly. All this time searching, capturing and torturing rebels, beating and raping villagers, scouring the countryside, The skirmishes, Martin's unrelenting attacks. Cornwallis constantly berating Tavington for his failure to capture the Ghost, riding him continually until Tavington thought he might skewer his Lordship on the tip of his sword.

And, two days after learning the Ghost's identity, finally, this _dear_ girl hands him the information on a silver platter. He tossed his head and scowled.

"Depending on how long she has known."

"She could have saved many lives, even if she had only known a week before Martin came to the Fort to retrieve his rabble."

"So, what do you do with her?"

Tavington tossed back another dram of whiskey. Give her to the men as the other girls would be? Or...

"No, I will take her myself."

"Pardon, Sir?"

"I said, I will take her myself, rather than give her to the men."

After a quick glance to be sure no one was near, Bordon leaned in close to Tavington. The two men had known one another for a long time, but it would not do for the men to see him questioning his superior. "William, this is not right - you do not know if this girl is a rebel or a Loyalist. It is bad enough that you have given the order for these other women to be... forced..."

"Rape is just another weapon, Stephen. It is no worse than Martin's actions against John Mayfield's family. How many Loyalist women did that Thomas Smith and the other rebels rape at the Mayfield plantation? At least three families were staying there at the time of his attack."

"You may be raping a Loyalist woman yourself, if you take Miss Mathan to your blankets tonight."

"A Loyalist woman who failed her duty, Stephen. I will be careful of her until I know for certain, but I will have her."

He put his flask away, two whiskeys were enough - he had no wish to be drunk when he took the girl. Pulling his pistol, he began to clean it - he would sharpen and oil his sword next.

"Was last night not enough for you?" Bordon's voice was harsh.

Tavington's fingers stilled on his pistol, momentarily shocked. His Captain rarely challenged him. He chuckled and met Bordon's eyes over the flickering fire. "Obviously not."

Bordon shook his head with disgust. "Will you make this one's body betray her, as well?"

"Of course, there is nothing more delicious," a silky, content whisper. "This one will be better than the other."

"How so?" Bordon's voice was thick with the struggle to contain his temper.

"She is a virgin, not an old used widow."

"Mrs. Selton is hardly old and used."

Tavington smirked contemptuously. "No, not old. But definitely used." He put his pistol away and began sharpening his sword as he continued in a self satisfied drawl. "I wonder if Martin knows by now?"

"I dare say. He will be out for blood, William."

"Yes. I am counting on it."

"The sentries are in place, Sir," Captain Wilkins approached and sat down at the fire with his young Loyalist friends, Arthur and Michael Middleton. "All fortifications are in place, the camp is secure."

"Good work, Wilkins. Tell me, does the name Mathan ring a bell with you?" His silky drawl gone, Tavington was crisp and businesslike.

"Mathan..." James tilted his head back and tapped a finger against his chin as he searched his memory. "Ah, yes - it does. A Loyalist family, died out now though - Mr. Mathan is dead. Mrs. Mathan remarried and moved out here somewhere, I forget her new husband's name. I heard she died a couple years ago."

"Loyalists then... Hmmm." Tavington mused.

"Fervently. Mr. Mathan was British born, you see. He came out here when he was oh... Seven years old? His father - the elder Mathan, came to the Americas for adventure and to invest his inheritance. I believe the family where considerably wealthy for a time, though if rumor is correct, Mrs. Mathan's new husband, a Patriot by the way, spent through a fair deal of it, burning it away on women and gambling and drink."

"My favorite pastimes!" Michael Middleton quipped.

"Speaking of which - it is almost time. Are you coming, Michael?" Arthur rose from his log.

"Yes, I think I will. That green eyed beauty - the one with the blond hair? She's mine."

"Not if I get there first." Arthur laughed.

"Stop, both of you." Tavington's voice rang with command, every inch the Colonel. "Bring the girl here, the one you two are fighting over. She is to be mine tonight."

"Drat!" Michael muttered, before standing to attention. "Right away, Sir."

Wilkins chuckled and rose from his seat in search of the cook pots and the other two men strode toward the captives.

Tavington snorted. "She is too good to waste on them."

"Too good to waste at all. William, you heard Wilkins, it verifies she is a Loyalist."

"With a Patriot stepfather, whom she failed to make mention of? Wilkins has verified nothing. And as I said, I will be careful of her. She should not have held back such vital information, Bordon. I will not share her with the men for now, but that is as far as my consideration for her extends. I _will_ have her tonight, the Middleton's can share her tomorrow night if the rebels have not attacked to rescue their women by then."

He rose gracefully and stretched like a cat, then made his way to his horse to fetch his bedroll and rucksack.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Desiring a little privacy, Tavington set up his and the girl's bedroll on the outer edge of the camp. The Dragoons would not disturb him unless it was absolutely dire, nevertheless he laid out the bedroll on the other side of a large, fallen tree trunk, far from the furthest sleeping Dragoon, then sat on the trunk to wait.

He had seen many a beautiful woman since gaining the Colonies four years ago, had bedded a few himself. Discarded them and moved on. Most of them had been willing, Patriot and Loyalist alike. Those who had not been willing were taken in an effort to destroy his enemies, it was business, nothing more. This girl however...

Bordon's words came back to him and he suffered a moment of doubt. It was a thin excuse, taking her to his blankets because she had failed to give information. If the girl was Loyal, she should not have to suffer the same fate as the Patriots they had caught. It occurred to him that he could allow her to sleep peacefully beside him, protected from the other men, untouched.

Tavington could see them approach, the full moon lighting the night. He watched her through lowered eyelids, her hair shining bright from under her cap, her fine figure - walking slowly, so youthful, hesitant and unsure. If only he could see her eyes - such a glorious green. His already stiff member jerked in his buckskin breeches and in that moment, he knew Bordon's words, and his own misgivings, would be ignored.

"Just step through here, Miss," Middleton was saying. She stood still, obviously frightened.

The corners of his mouth turned up a little, how pleasing would it be if she came to him from the start. He could have reached for her, dragged her to him, but he wanted her moaning, wanted her to lose control, and to willingly pleasure him as Mrs. Selton had the night before when the Green Dragoons raided her plantation. He smiled at the memory, how easily it had been to draw pleasure from the woman, from Benjamin Martin's betrothed. To hear her cry of dismay as her new lover ordered her house burnt to the ground after making love in her bedchamber.

"Miss Mathan," his voice was warm, a lovers caress. "Come to me, now."

On the other side of camp, they could hear some of the other women begin to cry. Lyra stiffened and turned her head toward the sounds.

"You do not wish to join _them_, do you my dear girl?" His quiet tone was dangerous, suggestive. Lyra shuddered and shook her head. "Then take my hand, little one, come to me," a silky, coaxing whisper.

He heard her quiet gasp, and then she was stepping forward to place her small, soft hand in his. Pulling her close, he traced his thumb gently over her lips and she shivered against him. Her white blonde hair glowed in the light cast by the moon, like a halo.

"You are delicious," he murmured. "Such beauty, you are an angel." Leaning down, he whispered against her ear, "You are _my_ angel."

For tonight, at least.


	5. Chapter 5 - Hot Little Whore

_A/N - warning as per my previous chapter, a little bit of roughness here, brutal Tavington..._

**Chapter Five - Hot Little Whore**

Leaning down, Tavington sighed as he brushed a gentle, almost chaste kiss across Lyra's lips. Her quick indrawn breath, her body shivering against his, her heart pounding. A caught and frightened little doe.

"Are you cold, little one?" he murmured against her lips and pulled her closer, his hands moving over her back. "You are shivering."

Her tongue darted out, licked her lips and Tavington stared, mesmerized, his desire for her growing. He wanted to slide his tongue across hers, kiss her full lips until they were swollen and bruised.

"A - a little," her voice was delicate and faint.

"I am too," he confided, admitting a weakness to reel her in. "Put your arms around me, my angel," he brushed another kiss across her lips, a little firmer this time, drawing it out as her hands hesitantly moved to his hips. He deepened the kiss and when her arms encircled his waist, he smiled with satisfaction.

Her heart was beating wildly, he could feel it through their clothes; well, so was his - it pounded in time with the gentle throb in his groin. The girl exhaled a long, slow breath against his lips, almost a sigh and Tavington groaned, his erection rock hard now, throbbing.

_Seduction is far more satisfying than forcing a woman._ The thought flittered through his mine and he realised that this young woman would be easy to seduce indeed - she was already melting against him, sighing and returning his kisses, lifting up slightly for more. _She is as mesmerized as I am. _

Still, he resolved to take it slow - the caught doe could startle and take fright easily, and he would have to start all over again. His fingers caressing her jaw and cheek, higher, to gently remove the cap covering her hair.

Lyra was lost. Forgetting her fear, she luxuriated in the strength and warmth, of this comfortable cocoon, shivers of heat moving through her body. Her stomach leapt as her lips were caressed and she whimpered quietly, pulling closer to further envelop herself.

"Are you still with me, little one?" A soft, amused voice intruded. Lyra's eyes flicked open and she sucked in a quick breath, blushing crimson. Tavington gazed down at her, his eyes twinkling amusement and desire both. She nodded and began to draw away from his hard chest.

"No, my angel," she was pulled close again, "stay with me now." His lips were on hers again and she soon found herself whimpering and clutching his broad back. It felt so good, to be kissed, so beautifully, to be held so securely, she had never known anything like it before.

Sensing she would not startle and bolt, Tavington tilted his head to the side and sensuously teased her lips apart with his. His touch against her tongue was gentle at first, a caress. Her whimper of delight made his head spin and, losing control for the first time, he crushed her to him and groped his tongue against hers. His blood pounded in his veins, he rocked his head to the other side, Lyra following his movements, her tongue stroking his, their breaths and sighs mingling.

"Mmmmnnnn," Lyra's melting moan almost proved his undoing.

Without breaking their kiss, Tavington gazed at her, watching her face contort with desperation and pleasure. He broke away and she moaned again, with disappointment and her eyes flicked open once more. Still gazing at her, Tavington panted slightly, his breaths hot bursts against her lips as his eyes roved over her face. Just one kiss and he knew he would not be giving her up the following night as had been his intention.

"My beautiful angel," his voice was silky, thick with lust, he rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. "No," he changed his mind, "my wicked little devil - you are a demoness, come to tempt me."

He kissed her again, lightly this time, playfully nipping and suckling her lips.

"Oh..." Lyra melted again. She had felt such thrilling warmth when their tongues had touched. Desiring to feel it again, she tentatively slipped her tongue into his mouth.

"Agh!" Tavington groaned and crushed her against him, lifting her to her toes with his powerful arms. "Vixen!" He growled into her mouth as their tongues began to circle and writhe. He broke the kiss again, moved his lips to her throat, licking and kissing, suckling and nipping. "Such passion," he said thickly. "I never expected..."

He could not finish. Instead, with another groan of need, he crashed his lips to hers, his fingers kneading her waist, heat coursing through him, his blood pumping and pulsing, rushing to his erection. He needed relief - he ached so...

"Miss Mathan," he panted, kissing her again. "I need you now, my angel, my devil. I need to be inside you." He kissed her again but his new lover drew away, panic in her eyes. She swallowed hard, fearful of what was to come.

"Wait, please," a frantic whisper. "We can't -"

"Come my sweet," he coaxed gently. "Such passion should not go to waste." He pulled his hips away from her, moved his hand from her waist to cup her between her legs, his palm pressing up against her mound through her skirts.

"Oh..." Lyra whimpered and found herself pushing her pelvis forward against his hand. He pressed harder, circling her and she wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on. He kissed her again, his tongue immediately searching for hers, and Lyra's stomach leapt with thrilling pleasure. "Oh, God!" A gasp, and then she keened against his lips, bucking forward against his hand as the heat and tension built far beyond her imaginings. Far more than anything Thomas Smith had ever coaxed from her. She began to understand, finally. Gripping Tavington's neck she bore down on his fingers and gasped.

Tavington made strangling noises as he kissed her, his control slipping.

"It feels good, does it not?" he rasped knowingly as she writhed against his hand. "My sweet innocent, my beautiful angel." His voice coaxed and cooed between kisses, and Lyra began to pant with need. She closed her eyes and placed her hands on either side of his face, kissing him hard as the tension reached its height. It exploded within her and her body jerked and shuddered against his, she arched her back as waves of heat pulsed through her.

"Ohhhhhhh," her head thrown back, Tavington covered her mouth with his hand to muffle her long, low keen. "Mmmmnnnn!"

After timeless, bliss filled moments, the feeling receded and Lyra collapsed against Tavington, her body feeling suddenly weak. He stroked her hair as she breathed heavily against him.

"There, there," he murmured, as if comforting a child. It worked on Lyra, her heavy breathing calmed. "Are you alright, little one?"

She nodded against his chest. "Yes, I am alright." Another deep breath and she lifted her head to his. Her expression, a small smile, her eyes bright, her face flushed from her first climax. It was maddening, it was torture. His erection throbbed with heat, he could feel his seed seeping out, he would not last much longer.

He brushed her hair from her face and kissed her gently. "Now, my angel?" He heard the desperation in his voice and it shocked him, he began to wonder who was seducing who. "My sweet devil, will you give yourself to me?"

"Yes," a quiet murmur.

Tavington heaved a sigh of relief.

Relief? He froze, suddenly wary. This girl - the effect she was having on him was completely unexpected, he was at risk of losing control. His fingers stroked her face softly, he forced himself to remain in command.

"Then kneel," he said coldly and began loosening his belt and buttons of his buckskin breeches. She was startled by his sudden change, but she knelt before him obediently.

He gazed down at her, all wide eyed and virginal innocence, her uncertainty had returned and Tavington's wariness vanished. He was still in control. Feeling an odd tenderness, he reached out and gently unbound her hair watching it fall about her shoulders and down her back.

"I want your hands on me, little one," his finger trailed along her jaw. _And your mouth too, though that can wait._ "I want you stroking me."

Before he could begin instructing her, Lyra's hands moved up along his thighs, stopping at the opening of his breeches. His cock lurched, such an inquisitive little thing he had found. Her fingers pulled his breeches open, slowly pulling them down around his thighs and his cock was finally freed, the heavy weight dropped forward and bounced back to his stomach. He licked his lips as he watched her, eager to see what this little innocent would do next.

Her eyes locked on his member, and for one delicious moment he saw her hesitate, her shaking fingers sent shocks through him as she traced his length tentatively.

Her uncertain expression shifted to one of resolve and she boldly wrapped her fingers around his shaft. Tavington threw his head back and bucked his hips back and forth in her grip, several thrusts, then with a ragged, sobbing gasp he forced himself to stop moving. Gripping her shoulders for support, gritting his teeth against his need, and held himself still. His cock throbbed, his seed leaked out of the tip, but he finally gained command of his body. Aroused and irritated, she had made him lose control, again.

And then her hand began to move. Slow, gentle, loving strokes. Expert strokes, and Tavington frowned. Her other hand cupped his pouch, gentle kneading, it felt divine, delicious. And still his irritation grew. Her fingers moved to his helmet, spreading his seed and circling the ridges even as her other hand tugged him steadily, insistently.

His innocent angel was not so innocent after all.

White hot jealousy shot through him, another had tasted of this girls delights before him. Tavington burned with anger and desire. Her hands on his shaft was drawing out his tension and warmth with the ease of a well practiced doxy. He scowled down at her, his rage was all consuming. He had let himself be drawn in, had spent time coaxing her, drawing out a climax from her, and in turn had lost control of himself. And then felt the unfamiliar surge of jealousy, when she was nothing more than a hot little whore. Probably as used as the Selton woman! He may as well have slammed her to the ground and fucked her at the start!

His features twisted with fury. With the quickness of a striking snake, he reached down and gripped a fistful of her soft white hair, jerking her head back painfully.

Lyra yelled, tears sprang to her eyes as white hot pain seared her skull. Tavington dropped to his knees before her, he was tall enough, even kneeling, to loom. His pale gaze flashed dangerously, frightening her to silence, except for pitiful gulps.

"How disappointing," he fought to maintain control, to keep his voice calm. "I thought I was getting a virgin, not a well trained, hot little whore." Still gripping her hair, he pulled her head back further, exposing her throat and she gasped and shivered. Tavington smiled and gave a vindictive tug. A small scream, her hands poring at his Redcoat, her eyes pleading. She was trying to speak, but her head was bent too far back. His breath, hot on her face, angry bursts. He relaxed his hold and shoved her to the ground.

Lyra gasped for breath and shuddered. The pain was immense, it took several long moments before it began to ease and by then Tavington was speaking.

"You drew me in, I admit it. I was deceived by your beauty, your seeming innocence. But no more. Open your legs, sweet, hot little whore - I will claim you for now, and then you may enjoy the attentions of the other Dragoons for your deception."

He pushed her onto her back, his knee digging into her closed thighs. It excited him to treat her so cruelly, even now her eyes and face, covered with tears and terror, held such a look of innocence. Beautiful angels would always look so innocent, no matter how well used.

"Please -"

Of course she would beg, Tavington curled his lip.

"You don't understand! I am a virgin."

"Yes," Tavington's laugh was harsh. "So am I." He crushed his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss and she gasped as his teeth nipped and scraped her lips. He made sure there was nothing nice about this kiss, he intended it to be a violation, he ravaged her mouth with his tongue. She whimpered and writhed beneath him, trying to dislodge his weight from her.

Damn the girl. So beautiful, angelic. Deceiving him, drawing him in. Making him lose control for the first time in years, making him feel the cold stab of jealousy! Just a whore, a hot little whore. And still he wanted her, still ached to be inside her. He would be soon, of that there was no doubt, but still he wished she had been a virgin, his disappointment twisted his belly.

He moved his lips to her neck, covering her mouth with his hand to muffle her protests. If she said it again, that she was a virgin, he would slap her. His teeth nipped her neck, harder than before, he sucked and licked, possessive now. A purple bruise on her neck would mark his territory before he gave her to the other men. With a groan he sought her lips again with a brutal, claiming kiss.

Writhing above her, he rubbed his erection along her thigh to gain some relief.

Enough. He had waited long enough, wasted time on pleasuring her, he could have been sated by now. He jerked his hand down to her skirts, pulled the up, dragging them along her thighs.

She twisted her head to the side, tried again. "Please, not like this! I was going to give myself to you, but not like this! Please, I'm a virgin!"

Quick as lightening, he slapped her. Not hard, though by her gasp it stung and shocked her.

"I do not need you to be able to speak to pleasure me, and while I'd enjoy your tongue on me, I don't need that either, I suggest you keep quiet, or I'll cut it out of your pretty little head."

She closed her mouth with a snap and turned her face to the side as his fingers explored within her folds between her legs. He dipped down to her entrance and began to push two fingers inside her. She gasped with pain and distress, as he bit at her neck and pushed his fingers deeper.

Lyra clenched her teeth and her fingers clawed at the earth.

So tight, so blessedly tight.

"Sweet god in heaven, you were telling the truth." Realisation shot through him, and Tavington froze, his fingers withdrew from her slowly.

He lifted himself on one elbow and shifted his weight from her. She immediately culled into a ball and wept, her entire body wracked with sobs, she shivered and choked with reaction to her near rape. Her sobs became whimpers and she tightened into her ball, a wounded and vulnerable little animal.


	6. Chapter 6 - Debauched

**Chapter Six - Debauched**

"Miss Mathan?" He called softly and placed his hand on her arm, his thumb caressing gently. "Sweet angel?" No response. With a heavy sigh, Tavington turned the girl over and pulled her against his body. His hands ran along her back, pushed her hair from her face. He was unaccustomed to giving comfort, but he had caused this pain. He kissed her head and rocked her, still no response. Then he remembered how much she seemed to relish it earlier when he held her securely, she had clutched at him desperately, buried herself against him.

Laying on his side, facing her, he curled his arms around her and pressed her head against his chest. "Lyra," he murmured softly. "It's alright now, its over."

Her whimpers began to cease and her hands clutched at him, she gave a final shudder, and was still. Long moments passed as he held her, but eventually she drew away from him and sat up. He lifted himself onto his elbow and tried to take her hand in his, and she jerked away, folded her arms across her chest.

"I know I hurt you," he said quietly. His fingers softly pulled the curtain of her hair aside in order to see her face.

"Don't worry, you're not the first," her voice was quiet and bitter.

Guilt twisted his stomach - another emotion he felt but rarely. This girl had his head spinning. He touched her neck carefully, his fingers gently caressing where he had bitten and sucked, in a bestial attempt to claim his territory before he passed her to the other men.

"Well what are you waiting for?" She snapped, her green eyes blazing. It shocked him, he did not think her capable of anger. "Aren't you going to fuck me, now? I'm just a hot little whore, aren't I?"

Her anger had shocked him, but this? Tavington was stunned.

"Lyra -"

"Have at me. Then pass me along to your men. Isn't that what you meant to do? Isn't it?"

"I thought you had deceived me," Tavington pushed himself up to kneel beside her and draped his arm across her back. "You're so sweet," he kissed her shoulder and wished it was bare, not covered by her bodice. "So exquisite." Another kiss, moving closer to her neck. "Innocent. When you knelt before me, you knew exactly what to do. How did you know?"

"It's not my fault!" She whirled around to face him. "I didn't ask him to come to me! I didn't welcome him, not even once! You'd learn quickly too, if someone bigger than you beat you every time you refused!"

"I dare say," he breathed. A memory surfaced, long since forgotten. Twelve year old William Tavington, punched and beaten until he acquiesced - bile rose in his throat, hot and stinging, he pushed the memory back down into the abyss where it belonged.

"You thought I deceived you?" She leaned in close, almost nose to nose.

The irony of this sweet little thing confronting him, the Butcher of the Colonies, was not lost to him.

"I never claimed to be a virgin before you kissed me, and you never asked! What of you? You _did_ deceive me! Though I should have remembered, you struck me this morning at the farm! You drew me in, made me feel safe, secure! Made me feel -" her breath caught and her voice lowered, became small, a whisper. "Cherished."

He touched her face gently but she jerked away and sat back on her heels, her arms over her chest again. Brittle as she was and nursing her pain, she would not let him in, not easily. He could coax her, cajole, whisper sweet nothing's to win her back to him, but for once in his life, Tavington tried for the simple truth.

"Little one, I am sorry," he said sincerely. "I was wrong."

Her defense wavered, her large eyes blinking owlishly. Then she shook her head, raised her walls again. Tavington sighed heavily.

"Lyra, I have done a great many terrible things since gaining the colonies, and I do not regret a single one of them. We are at war, and Cornwallis has entrusted me with the task of bringing in the Ghost for I am the only one ruthless enough to accomplish it. I am a killer, a brute, the Butcher, and I have no remorse," he pulled her hand away from her breast and held her fingers tenderly. "I rarely admit when I am wrong, and if I did not wish to lie with you, so _bloody_ desperately, I would not admit it now. It is the simple truth, however. Lyra, I _am_ sorry."

The poor thing, so confused, he had turned her on her head. Fairs fair, however, she had turned him on his. Admitting he was wrong - Christ, he never would have done, not in a hundred years! Feeling remorse was foreign to him, and it confused him why he should feel it for her, and not for Charlotte who, only the night before, he had seduced, coaxed, cajoled, whispered sweet nothing's until she fell into his arms with the same desperation he now felt for this youthful angel before him.

Karma? He snorted inwardly. Superstitious nonsense. His sharp gaze focused on Lyra and he held his silence, patiently waiting for her to decide.

"My head hurts," she murmured and rubbed her fingers across her scalp where he had jerked her hair.

"I dare say. Might I kiss it better?" He held his arms out to her and she sighed, shuffled closer to settle against his hard chest. He smiled with contentment and held her close. A light kiss on her hair, close to where he had pulled it, he then rested his chin on her head. His arms moved comfortingly along her back. "My angel, tell me who it was, this man who beat you?"

"My stepfather."

"Oh?"

"I've been stuck living with him, alone on his farm, for two years since my mother died. He started coming to me when she was barely cold and in the ground. He wishes to marry me, and he would have done as soon as I turned eighteen though I've not seen him in sometime. I was trying to escape him, with my former Governess, when you discovered us this morning."

"Christ. It's true then, you are Loyal to the Crown?"

"Yes. Perhaps if my parents had not been, I may not have been," she shrugged. "Who knows? But my papa was from England and my mother fiercely loyal - it's not right, what the Patriots are doing."

"Indeed, it is not. Which is why I am here -"

"Wreaking havoc."

"Excuse me?" He barked a laugh of surprise.

"Something Mrs Roberton said, the Green Dragoons are wreaking havoc, raping and -" Lyra stopped short and stared at the gold buttons on Tavington's Redcoat. "And its true - those girls you took. I was nearly one of them."

"It is all true, and many more things I doubt you have heard of, but you will not learn from me. I told you, I will do what is necessary, to draw the Ghost in."

Lyra held her silence, her fingers now toying with the gold button as she thought his words through.

"Who is Mrs. Roberton?" Tavington's attempt to steer the conversation to safer waters.

"The Patriot woman whose farm you burned this morning. She let us sleep there last night."

He stifled a groan, so much for safer waters.

"What happened to her?" She asked tentatively.

_Raped and released in the woods to wander or die as nature saw fit._

"She was questioned, but had no information and so Captain Wilkins let her go." The lie came easily, the truth was Dragoon business and had no place in his attempt to reconcile with this young creature.

"Oh," she lifted her head to his, her eyes warm. "I'm glad, she was kind to me."

Such an innocent, to believe him so easily. He gazed back fondly.

"And what of Mrs. Bryant, Sally and Arcam? My companions."

"They were left untouched," he could be truthful of this, at least. "I imagine they will be making their way to Charles Town - they are probably there by now."

"Maybe. They must be ever so worried - especially Sally. I've had her for many years, and she does not want me to free her."

"You wish to free her?" Lord, these Colonials. His family had made their fortune through the slave trade.

"I do. I want her to live her life but she wanted to stay and protect me. Not that she _could_ protect me, but she has been my only companion for so long..." Lyra sighed. "What questions do you ask the Patriots? You already know who the Ghost is."

"Indeed I do. My next task is to catch the old fox, I need to know where he is hiding. I've combed these wretched farmlands and these woods, to no avail." He could not hide his frustration.

"Well," Lyra swallowed hard, her heart thumping wildly. She was nervous suddenly and he frowned down a her. She spoke all in a rush. "Perhaps I can help you there."

His eyebrows shot up, excitement rifled through him. He kept his face smooth, barely daring to hope. "Oh?"

"The rebels - they have an encampment in Black Swamp - by the old Spanish Mission. Any Loyalist from these parts can lead you right there."

Breathing heavily, his blood pounded in his ears. His vision glazed, awash with red, the sharpened, suddenly blood thirsty. It was all he could do not to call the Dragoons to arms, to ride into the night to Black Swamp that very moment. No, this would require careful planning.

"My Lord?" Lyra drew away, apprehensive of his tension. "I was too afraid to tell you earlier. Did I not do the right thing, are you angry?"

He forced himself to calm, though it took a major effort of will. His lips quirked in a smile and he leaned down to kiss her tenderly. "No, I am not angry, I'm _eager_. You did the exact right thing, my angel. And the correct address is _Sir_, not my Lord." He laughed aloud, a release of tension and a build up of excitement. "What a treasure you are. Tell me, how do you know this? Are you certain?"

"Yes, I am certain," she hesitated, becoming fretful. "If I tell you, do you promise not to be angry? You are ever so frightening."

"I promise, little one," he murmured against her lips, he kissed her sweetly and cupped her face in his hands. "Nothing could ruin my good mood now."

"Oh. Well I lied to you earlier, I did not learn of the Ghost from an elderly woman who treated a wounded rebel solider. The truth is, my stepfather, whom I mentioned before?"

Tavington nodded and pressed his lips to hers with a small groan. Her arms moved up his chest and wrapped over his shoulders and he rocked his head to the side, deepening the kiss. She closed her eyes and melted against him.

"How can I tell you while your kissing me like this?" Lyra said breathlessly.

"I know, wicked of me." He moved to her neck. "You can tell me now."

"You remember your promise?" He nodded languidly, his member hardening with every passing moment. "He serves in the rebel militia, with Benjamin Martin."

"Hmm. I suspected as much."

"You did?" Lyra jerked back, startled to sobriety.

"Indeed. Wilkins knows a little of your family, he said your mother remarried and her new husband was a Patriot. You told me you live on the other side of the Santee - which happens to be thick with rebels. You knew the identity of the Ghost, and now you tell me where he is located? I didn't rise through the ranks, from a Cornet to Colonel, in only four years I might add, without a modicum of common sense."

"So I worried for nothing? I felt certain you would believe I was a Patriot and take me hostage."

"You were correct to fear, on both counts, precious. You have, however, proven yourself to me and I will take no Loyalist woman hostage, even to lure in her rebel stepfather. In fact, my sweet, if you wish it I will see you safely to Charles Town, at the earliest opportunity."

"You will?" She gasped. Tavington smiled, it felt good to play the role of protector for a change. She was a damsel in distress, and he was her knight.

"I will, little one. I will not leave you stranded out here alone." He was a Gentleman after all, and if truth be told, he _was_ the cause of her being stranded in the first place.

Lyra smiled brightly, she shuffled onto her knees and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tight. "No more talk of giving me to your men?"

"No, you are all mine. If you will still allow it."

She smiled shyly and Tavington stifled a chuckle. Of course she would give herself to him - he had no doubt of it. After the horror of living with an abusive stepfather, the Colonel sensed Lyra was pining for someone strong to take care of her.

Her arms still around his neck, the two kneeled facing each other. Tavington leaned forward to kiss her neck and she shivered before him. Yes, she would give him her all, willingly.

After a short while Lyra pulled her arms from his neck, glided her hands down his chest, over his stomach. One hand moved under his Redcoat to take a hold of his erection, closing her fingers around him firmly, a tight fist. Shocks leapt in his chest and stomach.

"I take it," he murmured thickly. "That you will still allow it?"

"I will, Sir." She began to tug him gently.

"William, Lyra," he nipped her bottom lip gently and groaned. "Christ." He pumped his erection back and forth in her tight grip. "You make me lose control, you vixen!"

"Will you do it to me again, William? It felt so... nice..."

He growled lustfully, his name dripped off her lips like honey, her South Carolinian drawl making it so much... more. And to hear her ask him to pleasure her - he had known she would give him her all but he had not expected such wanton eagerness... He gazed at her intently, briefly thought of making her beg, then rejected the idea immediately - he had already pushed her past her limit.

His free hand pried at her skirts, pushing them up her thighs to get them out of the way.

"Open your legs for me, little one," his voice commanded, compelled. Lyra swallowed, and with a quiet sigh, she parted her legs. His hand moved along her thigh, high to caress his fingers through her curls.

"Hmm," her delicious whimper, she leaned closer to kiss him, tugged him harder, as his fingers found her quim.

Lyra gave herself over to the lovely sensations. Small, pleasant flips, like butterflies fluttering, flared in her stomach and along her spine. Her breathing deepened and her free hand trailed along his neck touching his cheeks and then back up to run over his unbound hair. Her other hand gripped him tight and tugged ever harder, faster, as he bucked and groaned.

She sighed and Tavington's breathing became heavier as he kissed her more deeply. When his tongue touched hers, Lyra shivered and gasped, the thrill between her legs leaping under his fast moving fingers. Her legs opened wider and she began to rock her hips, pushing her pelvis forward against his fingers with a desperate moan.

"That's it, my sweet," his voice dripped sex and lust. "Let it build. Ah, little vixen, my hot little -"

She tensed and he swiftly changed what he had been about to say, without missing a beat.

"- angel. My beautiful angel."

He was rewarded with a groan, her tight fist tugged him frantically and she bucked and circled her pelvis, trying to catch his fingers to the exact right spot on her hard little quim. He knew she found the spot when her head collapsed to his shoulders, her arm gripping him tight, her hand on his cock listless as she panted and whimpered. Her lips moved to his neck and she kissed his throat.

"William, oh William. Oh..." She rocked her hips slowly now, languidly, and he held his fingers still, letting her find her pleasure.

"You're killing me Lyra," he whispered. "Come for me darling, find your release, I need to fill you."

"It's close," a dazed murmur as the tension inside her hit its peak, her quim tingled as it had before, she would be flooded with sensation all over again. "Oh, God..." She threw her arms around him and bucked her pelvis back and forth wildly against his fingers, the tension broke and she keened, a low wail muffled against his neck, her hands tight on his collar, gripping as her climax washed over her a second time. "William..." She breathed and collapsed in his arms.

"I can't wait anymore Lyra," he lowered her to the bedroll, his voice thick and heavy with need. He laid her down on her back and kneeled above her to take in the sight. Her hair - wild around her, her eyes - glazed with remembered pleasure, her cheeks - flushed, her lips - full and swollen from kissing, her breasts - heaving, her skirts hiked high about her parted legs.

"Debauched..." He breathed. He reeled, to see her so... Debauched.

He pushed her legs further apart and, gripping her hips, pulled her bodily to him.

"Lyra," he called and she settled her glazed eyes on him. "I am going to fuck you now." Saying the words sent chills along his spine. He took hold of his erection and positioned himself at her entrance. "Stop me now, if you must, for I won't be able to stop once I've begun."

"Ohhh, God," she bit her lip and tilted her pelvis up to him, inviting, any fear she may have still harbored had washed away with her climax. "I won't stop you, William." She smiled then, he could see her face turn bright red at her boldness. "Fuck me, William."

"Christ," he pushed forward, nudged at her opening, "what have I turned you into?" He gasped fondly against her ear.

"Your hot little whore?" She quipped and he laughed aloud.

"No my sweet angel," mirth mingled with his thick, lust filled voice. "My hot little temptress. I'll never call you whore again."

"Promise?"

"On my honor." He pushed his hips forward, a slow advancement.

"Wait, will it hurt?" She asked in a whisper, seeking reassurance.

"Yes, darling it will hurt, at first at least. I will not promise to be gentle, I have needed you all evening. When I am inside you, relax yourself around me." His tip sunk into her tight embrace. He murmured a promise against her ear, "I will hold you afterward, on my honor."

His words were hardly comforting, he had as much as admitted he would take her as he wished, and used his need for her as an excuse. Far from being bothered, however, Lyra felt a thrill of excitement shoot through her, she wrapped her fingers around his strong arms and braced herself.

He entered her further, his eyes locked on hers as her maiden head stretched against his tip. "Oh God, you are so tight, so blessedly hot."

His face was slack with pleasure as the aching itch was finally assuaged.

"I am sorry, darling," he murmured and bit down on her neck with a groan.

She had enough time to raise her eyebrows, puzzled, when he shoved forward abruptly, his full length filling her deeply. He felt a surge of searing pleasure, to be so enveloped in her warmth. She felt a surge of pain inside her as her maidenhead tore and broke, her tight muscles inside straining around his width. They both gasped desperately at the same time.

It took all his willpower to hold himself still above her, all his control not to thrash back and forth as he allowed her to time to adjust to him.

"Has your pain subsided?" Christ, he needed to move, needed to thrust!

"Lord, that was... Oh William, you are a brute..." Breathing deeply, she stared at him with shock. But the pain was subsiding, and she nodded. "I am ready."

He leaned down and kissed her tenderly for a few long moments, a sharp contrast to his abrupt impaling of her. His climax had almost taken him, and he had only been inside her for a scant few seconds. When he felt sure he would not come so quickly, he began to stoke in and out of her, slowly at first, gaining speed and intensity as his pleasure built.

His breathing was labored and coming in rasps, he changed his angle to catch the pleasure spot deep within her and Lyra whimpered and shuddered beneath him. She gripped at his collar and neck, biting her lip as that warm sensation began to fill her again.

"Move with me," He breathed in her ear, and she rocked her hips in time with him. He increased the tempo, supporting himself above her on his arms, continually kissing her and intermittently whispering instructions. The tension built steadily, pleasure firing along his veins.

His breath, hot on her ear, he set a hard quick rhythm.

Lyra ran her hands along his back, and marveled as his strong muscles bunched and moved with his exertions.

Tavington moaned low in his throat, making a guttural "ah, uh, ah," with each thrust. He pushed in deeply and held there, crashing his lips to hers in a long harsh kiss. She pulled her arms from his back, placing her hands on either side of his face, watching him with fascination as his face twisted with the agony of searing pleasure. A gasping sob and his erection twitched and throbbed inside of her as his seed pulsed out in spurts. Finally letting out an explosive breath, he bent his head to her shoulder and she wrapped her arms around the back of his head, toying gently with his hair.

"I know, I am a brute. Did I hurt you terribly?" He asked against her neck.

"Yes," she scoffed. "Lord... You should have taken me earlier in the evening when the need was not so urgent - you may have been more gentle."

"Don't think I was not tempted. You were too fearful of me earlier, however. You did not climax." It was not a question.

"No, but it did feel good, after the pain was gone," she assured him.

"It was your first time, little one... Perhaps when you are used to me we will climax together," he pulled out slowly and collapsed beside her. With a gratified sigh, he draped one arm over his eyes.

Lyra curled onto her side, watching him breathe deeply.

"Have you forgotten your promise?" Her voice was tentative, uncertain. Thomas usually walked from the room after he spilled his seed, which suited her fine, but she did not want it to be so... cold... between her and the Colonel.

"No, I have not forgotten. I just needed to calm - come here," he held his arms to her and she settled into his embrace with a sigh of relief. Her head rested on his chest and he stroked her hair idly. She draped her arm across his body and closed her eyes ready to sleep.

He was in a talkative mood, however.

"Why do you need to go to Charles Town?"

"I thought I told you..." she murmured. "My inheritance. My house."

"No, my angel, you did not mention an inheritance or a house."

"Well, I am eighteen now, it is mine finally - small though it is, barely two thousand pounds. Mrs. Bryant says I must marry right away, with Smith being my Stepfather, what is mine is his by right. If I marry it will be my husbands."

For the second time that evening, the hot spike of jealousy shot through him. He shoved it down, it was nothing to him if she found a husband. Probably for the best, actually - if she became pregnant to him, he would not have the complication of leaving a bastard behind when the army made its way to North Virginia. He did not have the time or the inclination to form an attachment, he did not want to become entangled.

"Which is why he wanted to marry you?" Her inheritance was a pittance, if it was only two thousand pounds, but if her stepfather sold her house, depending on it's size and where it was located, he would have at least another twenty thousand.

"Hmm."

"Do you have other family there?" Wilkins had said the Mathan family was died out - Lyra, it seemed was the last of them.

"A grandmother, but I've not seen her since I was little and even then it was only once or twice. She had a fall out with my mother, I think. I won't be visiting her."

"No? You should, it would be impolite not too."

"Would it? Well, perhaps you are right."

"I usually am," he said again with a quiet laugh.

"You speak like my grandfather," Lyra said. "Though your voice is lower. It is nice to hear his accent again."

"Well, aren't you full of surprises?" His eyebrows arched. Then he remembered Wilkins telling him that the Mathan family came over to the Colonies from England when her father was a boy.

"Where was your grandfather from?"

"Liverpool," her voice was sleepy.

"Indeed? That is where I am from."

"Humph, that explains why you speak like him then."

"Mathan... I wonder if my family knew yours."

"Hmm, wouldn't that be amusing?" Her eyes closed and she began to drift.

"Lyra, how long have you known the identity of the Ghost?"

She jerked out of her doze, suddenly alert and wary. "I don't want to tell you, you will become angry."

"How long, Lyra?" His voice became firm, suspecting he would not like the answer.

"Months."

He sat bolt upright beside her. "Months." He said flatly.

"William, please, I could not have told. No one - and I mean _no one_ is Loyal out there. Not any more, they all fled the area, joining the Loyalist militia or taking themselves to Charles Town. Who could I have told?"

Tavington said nothing. Lyra felt uncomfortable with the silence, so she continued, "what could I have done? Bundled Sally up on the back of our cart and travelled to Charles Town ourselves?" She shuddered, frightened by the very idea. "It was bad enough when Mrs. Bryant showed up the day before yesterday and demanded I do exactly that. I was terrified and that was with her and Arcam to protect me." Her voice became small. "Though I suppose it seems like a thin excuse to you, if I had faced my fear perhaps I could have saved lives."

"Thin excuse indeed," his voice was ice. "Some that have died were my own Dragoons." Then his gaze softened. "Though I understand. As Mrs. Bryant said, you are not a soldier. And only eighteen."

"Am I forgiven then? For failing to do my duty?"

He curled his lip and he laid down again in silence, though he pulled her back into his embrace.

"I said I _understood_, Lyra. That does not mean I can _forgive_ you. Still, I am willing to let it pass." He resumed his idle stroking of her hair and eventually the tension between them eased and they drifted to sleep.

Throughout the night, Tavington's dreams where haunted by a pair of dark green eyes.


	7. Chapter 7 - Tavington's Lover

**Chapter Seven: Tavington's Lover**

Lyra awoke during the night, bursting. She needed to relieve herself, but Tavington was sound asleep beside her, snoring softly, his strong arms hooked loosely around her. There was no help for it, she had to wake him, if she waited any longer, she would shame herself and wet the bedroll.

"Colonel...?" She whispered and reached up to nudge him gently on the chest.

His soldier's instincts bought him instantly to full wakefulness. He sat bolt upright, searching for his weapons. "What is it, what did you see?"

"Ah, nothing..." she said cautiously, glancing over her shoulder as she sat up beside him. "I, ah... Need to attend to... I need," she squirmed and blushed crimson, not wanting to say it."The call of nature..."

"Oh, come on then," he relaxed visibly. "This way."

"Wait, I can't see!" How he could find his way easily was beyond her, Tavington slowed and took her hand to lead her. "I'm sorry, I could have gone on my own, instead of waking you."

"No, I have sentries posted on the outskirts of camp, better to be safe than sorry."

Once in the woods, Lyra picked her way carefully over twigs and rocks until she was behind a tree. She could hear Tavington relieving himself close by at the same time. Pushing her skirts back down, she met him and expected him to lead her back, but the Colonel had other ideas. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her and pressed her up against a tree.

"Again?" Lyra giggled as his hand moved down her body to lift her skirts.

"Again. I am insatiable for you," a thick murmur.

"What of the sentries you mentioned? Will they be watching?"

"Not if they know what's good for them. Hush now, darling one, open your legs for me."

His hand cupped her between her thighs, pushing back and forth, demanding. She sighed with anticipation when his fingers found her quim. His hand dipped lower, however, his fingers pushing at her entrance. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pulled his hand away.

Gripping her waist, he lifted her easily, and lowered her onto his length.

"Put your legs around my waist, it will feel better," he whispered, guiding her legs around him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders for support as he slid inside her with a quiet but harsh groan.

_He was only checking to see if I was ready for him!_ she realized with disappointment. She felt unaccountably hurt and used.

Like a 'hot little whore'.

"Good god, my angel, don't move yet," Tavington threw his head back, his cock pulsed and twitched inside her. "Christ, what is wrong with me, I have more control than this! I feel like coming already!"

He was silent and still for timeless moments before sighing again. "What have you done to me, you little devil?" His words were affectionate, his gaze adoring. With a shake of his head, he began to stroke in and out of her slowly. "Agh, agh, agh," a grunt with each slow thrust.

"You will bring the sentries down on us," Lyra murmured. "They will hear you, and know we're here."

"They already know," Tavington grunted. "Don't think about them, little one. Move with me now, I need to come."

"Hmm, nice for some," she muttered. He raised his eyebrows in question but she sighed and pulled him closer. "Kiss me at least," she whispered against his lips.

Understanding finally, Tavington nodded and brushed his lips against hers. "Take care of me now, little one, I will take care of you when we're back in our blankets."

"Oh!" Lyra smiled, content again, and bucked to his rhythm with increasing fervor.

"Vixen," he chuckled.

His tongue searched for, and found, hers. Soft strokes at first, then as his breathing grew heavy and sweat beaded his brow, he kissed clumsily, his tongue dueling hers. Heat suffused his body and his blood pounded in his ears. "Agh! Sweet Lord above!"

Tavington groaned and braced himself against the tree at Lyra's back, planting one hand on either side of her head, his fingers gripped the tree for purchase as he began his assault. Heaving into her, his pelvis snapped forward, pulled back and snapped forward again, faster. His head thrown back again, his breathing quiet rasps, hot against the shell of her ear.

A frenzy of movement, the tension built steadily to breaking point then, the tingle before the tidal wave, and suddenly he was awash with thrilling heat and searing pleasure. He growled out loud and Lyra shoved her hands over his mouth to try and stifle his moans.

"Agh! Christ!" He collapsed against her, his head buried in the nook between her neck and shoulder. He felt Lyra twitching beneath him.

Laughing, she was laughing.

"You find me amusing?" His voice was ragged, not yet calmed from his intense climax. She nodded, still giggling.

"You make the funniest noises. You are sure to wake the whole camp!"

"I am pleased you were entertained," he drew out of her slowly and lowered her to her feet. "Lets head back to our blankets, it's your turn to entertain me with your funny noises," he quickly buttoned his buckskin breeches as she lowered her skirts.

She took his hand eagerly, almost skipping along beside him with anticipation. A few moments later, Tavington lay on his side next to her on the bedroll, his hand roaming the length of her body, from her breasts, gliding down over her stomach to between her thighs.

"I wish we could take all this off," he murmured against her ear as his fingers found her quim. "Your stays are in the way of your glorious breasts. I could be suckling your nipples right now - you would enjoy that."

"Truly?" she breathed. "Never mind, I am enjoying this!" Clutching at his shoulders she pushed her pelvis forward, hard up against his fingers with a quiet groan.

"Hmm, the funny noises," he watched her face, lit by the moonlight.

"Oh, don't tease," Lyra whimpered and bit her lip with an intent frown. Thrilling tension built steadily, centered on her quim under his expert fingers. She pushed and bucked against him but he would not circle her faster. "Oh, William... Faster."

"Ask me nicely," he commanded, every inch the Colonel.

"Please - pretty please, sugar... spice... darling - faster!"

"The pleasure is all mine," he murmured against her lips, he kissed her tenderly and expertly, as his fingers began to move furiously over and around her quim. Lyra gasped and pushed up against him again, her pelvis writhed as she quested for more.

"William," she gasped, clutching at his neck, as her third true climax took over her body. Her face buried against his shoulder and as she calmed he held her tight and kissed her hair.

With a contented sigh, Lyra collapsed on the bedroll to gaze up him.

"Your funny noises are prettier than mine," Tavington smiled.

"You sound angry, when you are... Um..."

"Coming?" He laughed. "Or dying..."

"Dying?"

"Hmmm hmm. When the pleasure washes over you."

"Oh, well you've killed me three times tonight then," she giggled.

"And it is not even morning yet. You'll be sore tomorrow, my sweet angel." He pulled her against him. "Come here, darling. Time for more sleep and happy dreams."

"Hmm," she laid her head against his chest and snuggled her body close. "I was too tired to dream, what of you?"

"I was too tired also," he lied.

A satisfied smile crossed his face, perhaps he should tell her the truth, the lusty little thing might enjoy knowing he had dreamed of her; on her knees, her mouth moving along his cock as he spurted his seed and groaned. He had woken up hard, it had taken all his concentration to banish her from his thoughts so he would become soft enough to empty his bladder.

"You are a puzzle, William Tavington."

"I'm a puzzle?" Incredulous. "In the space of one day, you have gone from a frightened little innocent doe to a demanding temptress."

"Demanding?" She giggled again. "I suppose I am..." Her fingers traced slow circles over his bare skin under his open shirt. "But you. You are the Butcher. And yet..."

"I make love as easily, and as well, as I make war, darling." Tavington said by way of explanation.

"Hmm, modest," Lyra murmured and Tavington chuckled. "What I mean is, earlier you were so... frightening. And now..."

"You are my lover, Lyra. I may get angry with you, but I won't hurt you. Not again."

"But it does not change who you are?"

"Certainly not. Even now I am thinking of exactly how to attack Martin in his little camp... In Black Swamp. Bordon is going to be very pleased when I tell him tomorrow. I _should_ be disappointed that the Ghost has not attempted to rescue the rebel women yet, but knowing where he is hidden more than makes up for it."

"Oh, my God," Lyra breathed. Her face was pale in the moonlight, she sat up beside him and stared down in horror. "They will attack to rescue the girls."

"Yes, I am counting on it. I won't have to dig him out, if he comes to me. What is it Lyra?"

She pressed her hands to her stomach. "He will come for me, Thomas - he will try and rescue me... Oh God..." Lyra gasped, breathing heavily, bordering panic.

"Lyra, calm yourself," Tavington became Colonel again, his voice commanding. "Stop this now. You will wake the camp. Lay down with me, and tell me what has you so frightened."

"_He_ has me frightened! My stepfather, Thomas Smith. I can't wind up back in his hands William, he will force me to marry him! What if he knows I tried to flee? He will beat me and -"

"Your stepfather is Thomas Smith?"

Lyra nodded, her eyes open as wide as an owls.

"Christ. Now, he would be a prize worth catching. He has been raping his way across the Santee - attacking Loyalists in their homes. Lord, _he_ is your stepfather?"

She nodded again. "Raping?"

"Yes. A nasty one he is. Fear not, Lyra. I am worse than he could hope to be, and I will not let him have you."

"You won't?" Her voice was small, a little girls voice, hoping he would protect her but not believing he would. "Why?"

"Because you are my lover. Do you think me so cold hearted? I could spend the night giving and receiving pleasure, only to hand you back to someone I know will hurt you?"

"You really won't let him have me?" A sobbing gasp, desperate to believe.

"Come here," his voice was warm and resigned at the same time, she allowed herself to be enveloped in his arms and they lay back on the bedroll. He stroked her hair to calm her as she shivered beside him with fear of her stepfather.

"I have two hundred Dragoons, angel. Tomorrow night, we will sleep in the centre of camp not on the outskirts as we are now. Furthermore, I will place a circle of Dragoons around us, their sole purpose will be to protect you if the rebels attack. Fear not, my darling, all will be well. You will be in Charles Town soon, reunited with Mrs. Bryant and Sally..."

He continued soothing her, speaking softly until her shivering stopped and her body relaxed into a fitful sleep.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Oh, Lord, I _am_ sore!"

Tavington smirked. "Sorry, darling. I will be gentle with you now." He waited for her to adjust around him, waited for her pain, caused by too much coupling, to subside. "You were a virgin, I've had you four times now. It was too much for you."

"It isn't stopping you, however," she noted, her voice tart.

"No, it isn't," another chuckle. He sensed she was not particularly distressed, stroking his arms and returning his gentle kisses with tenderness. "We will not be together again until tonight, my sweet temptress. I have to take you while I can."

"You are a brute," she smiled and stroked his hair out of his face.

"Hush now," he commanded as he began to stroke inside her - gently as promised. He _had_ taken her too many times, being the selfish man he was at heart.

A few hours earlier, the poor dear had been startled awake during the night by the mournful howls of a nearby wolf. It had unsettled Tavington, also - the damned animal had been far too close to camp for comfort. Holding her close, he had assured her the wolf would come no closer, being afraid of the camp fires and of the men, but she had laid shivering in his arms until he began to kiss and pleasure her. He had taken his pleasure as well, as he was now - he always woke up hard as a rock in the mornings.

Though as gentle as he was, as quick as he tried to make it, she still cringed and winced when he withdrew from her.

"I will give you a rest tonight, darling one," he whispered raggedly as he stroked her face.

"A whole night? For a wonder - you have a heart after all," she quipped.

"You don't honestly expect me to give you two nights, surely? Lord, I can't wait that long, not with such a beautiful angel in my arms."

"Hmph."

Tavington chuckled and nuzzled her hair. "What have you done to me, little one? You are intoxicating, I dreamed of you last night."

"Oh, you did not," she scoffed and sat up. "There is no end to you, is there? Butcher of the Colonies. I think you should be renamed."

"To?"

"Courtier of the Colonies perhaps?"

"Does not have the same fearful ring to it. Men won't run in fear, Loyalist men won't flock to my banner -"

"They might..." Her smile was suggestive.

"Lyra! You are a vixen. How do you know of such things?"

"I saw two men kissing once, in Pembroke. When they saw me one of them started yelling curses and the other offered me sweets if I promised not to tell." Lyra giggled. "I took the sweets of course, I hardly ever get sweets."

Tavington laughed out right, he was still chuckling when Bordon came over to make his report. Lyra quickly straightened her skirts and began running her fingers through her hair, trying to straighten her long locks before tying it back and covering it with her cap.

"Sir, there has been no sign of the rebels."

"Quite obviously," Lyra's lover was gone, replaced with Colonel Tavington. Hard, cold, ready for war. Even his voice changed, from the warm drawl to icy disdain.

"I expect they will come to us tonight, or lay an ambush for us during the day. Make sure the men are on alert, get them ready to ride out within the hour. We will make for MacIntyre's farm - we can visit a few rebel farms before making an early camp this afternoon."

"More farms?" Lyra asked faintly. Colonel Tavington shot her a hard, stern look and she lowered her eyes.

His face softened again, remembering that, thanks to her, he had good news to share with his Captain.

"Miss Mathan, it seems, is a well of information, Bordon. She has told me where Benjamin Martin is hiding with his rabble."

"Good Lord!" Bordon, all astonishment, shot a glance at Lyra who blushed. "Where?"

"Black Swamp," Tavington answered for his lover. "And before you ask, yes, she is certain. Lyra is a Loyalist, I believe her wholeheartedly now, though her stepfather is the rebel, Thomas Smith."

"Martin's Captain? Christ!" Bordon gazed down at Lyra. "It must be a difficult thing for you, Miss Mathan, to be Loyal when a loved one is a Patriot. Your steadfastness is to be applauded."

"It's not easy," she admitted, though she was speaking of her betrayal of Benjamin Martin, who had always been kind.

"Loved one," Tavington scoffed. "Her stepfather is a brute and Lyra must be protected from him at all costs."

Bordon, all astonishment once more, turned his gaze to the Colonel. Tavington interpreted the other man's look.

_Yes, I care. I do not know why, but I do and there it is. I have taken her as my lover and she will be protected._

Tavington did not say the words, however. He held the Captain's gaze until Bordon nodded and turned back to Lyra.

"Even still, it is appreciated. We have been combing these woods, these farmlands, questioned countless rebels -"

"Well, perhaps you should have visited my farm months ago. I could have told you everything then, and William could have seen me safely to Charles Town. I could have been there by now."

"So, that is the plan then? We shall escort Miss Mathan to Charles Town?"

"We shall. She would have been there by now if not for -"

_Me._

Tavington paused, gazing at Lyra, realising it was true. He had interrupted her journey, she had almost been safely out of the Santee when he took her. And now he was about to take her back the way she had come, deep into rebel territory. He kneeled down before her and cupped her face with his hands, despite Bordon watching.

"I do hope you don't expect me to apologise, my angel. I had the best night of my life last night. The very thought that you may have made it all the way to Charles Town without us ever meeting leaves me feeling wretched."

"It does?" Lyra breathed, wide eyed, innocent, very young and very much at risk of falling deeply in love with him.

"It does," he kissed her forehead gently. "Stephen," he glanced up at his Captain. "The threat Thomas Smith presents to Miss Mathan is real, I want her protected at all times. Choose ten Dragoons whose soul task will be to watch over her. She will continue to ride with you -"

"Why can't I ride with you?"

"If only. It is too dangerous my sweet. It is too dangerous with Bordon, if the truth be told. He rides close to me at the front. But I want you where I can keep an eye on you, and I trust him implicitly."

Her disappointment was palpable - well, so was his. To have her riding behind him all day, her arms wrapped around his waist instead of Bordon's... No. He shook his head and stood up abruptly, avoiding Bordon's considering stare as he stomped his feet into his boots.

"Well?" His voice was almost harsh, his face set in a hard frown. "Get the men ready! We leave in half an hour. Select the ten and have them ride with you at the front of the column."

"Yes, Sir."

"Captain Bordon?" Lyra called as he turned away to do his Colonel's bidding. "I am sorry for biting you yesterday. Does it still hurt?"

"That was nasty, Miss Mathan," he laughed. "And if it did still hurt, I would not own to it." He walked away.

"William?"

Tavington turned his frown on Lyra.

"Have you seen my hat, and my cape? Its awfully cold. Oh, and my shoes, where are they?" She looked around, green eyes searching. With a heavy sigh, he helped her in her search.

A little while later, Lyra found herself alone as Tavington went off to see to all the things the Colonel had to see to, leaving her free to relieve herself and wash up at the stream.

There, under a large bush, she spied the herbs her mother used brew into a tea to prevent conception. She pulled at the small bushel and shoved it into the deep pockets in her skirts, intending to make a brew of tea with it later.

Her mother used to send her into the woods to pick the herbs, and she would hang them to dry. Lyra would not have time to dry the leaves, of course, and a short while later, as she dropped a few mushed leaves into a cup of hot water, she hoped that the herb would still be as effective.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**_A/N - Okay, so Tavington was kind of mushy in this chapter, which I don't like but it stands to reason that when he is charming a woman, seducing her, he would be mushy. He does still have a terrible temper, which he unleashes yet again on poor Lyra in the next chapter... A big thank you to the people who are reading, reviewing, favouriting and following this story - I really appreciate it! :-)_**


	8. Chapter 8 - Loyalties Tested

**Chapter Eight: Loyalties Tested.**

The Green Dragoons thundered down the lane toward the second farm of the morning. They had left the previous rebel farm ablaze, but he did not harm the occupants this time - an elderly frightened couple, whose son served in the Rebel Militia. He made them watch their home and crops burn, but he had left them alive.

Lyra had stopped crying, though tears still stained her cheeks. She looked miserable, it had caused her no end of distress to the see the elderly couple, whom she had known from Pembroke, roughed up and abused, their home and farm burned. She caught his gaze and quickly lowered her eyes, unwilling to look at him.

A woman's heart. Tavington tightened his lips - the Green Dragoons on a raiding mission was no place for a Lady.

Pushing Lyra out of his thoughts, he held his arm up to signal the halt and the Dragoons slowed, stopped. The Colonel's icy gaze took in his surroundings at a glance while Captain Wilkins and Captain Bordon drew up on either side of him.

"Captain?" Tavington asked in a quiet voice.

"I do not know, Sir," Wilkins admitted reluctantly. "We are too far from Wakefield now, I do not know these people."

Tavington nodded and returned his gaze back to the farmhouse just as the owner, an old man, came running out, along with a young woman, her belly swollen heavy with child.

"Hmm, perhaps..." He considered as he watched them approach. He looked at Lyra, mounted behind Bordon and looking dejected and forlorn. She resolutely turned her face from his.

"What is your business here?" The old man snapped, he stood directly before Tavington's horse. "Identify yourself!"

"By all means," the Colonel said pleasantly. He saw Lyra shudder out of the corner of his eye - of course, he had been polite with the elderly couple at the previous farm as well. He had still ordered their farm burned to the ground and left the couple covered with bruises... He leaned over his horses neck to address the old man. "Colonel William Tavington, Green Dragoons." Still that polite tone.

The couple would have already known who he was, of course, but to hear it confirmed...

"Ah..." The old farmer glanced around furtively. "Emery, Sir. Philip Emery, and this is my daughter, Sarah."

"Your daughter," Tavington lifted his gaze to the woman. "Where is your husband, Mrs...?" He cocked an eyebrow and waited for her to tell him her name. They all held connections to rebels, every single person who lived in this area, including Lyra herself. Lyra's farm could not be far away, for that matter.

"Miss," she shot a glance at her father, "Miss. Emery."

Tavington rolled his eyes. "Clearly, you are lying," he said firmly, his pale, intent gaze lingered on her stomach. "What is your name, madam? Where is your husband?"

She clutched her skirts nervously, but remained silent.

The Colonel sighed heavily, a pregnant hostage would be useless to him. Useless and tiresome, especially if she were to bare the whelp while under his dubious care. He would not take her unless she had a significant connection with the rebel militia.

"Miss Mathan," Tavington turned to the girl. "Do you know these people, can you identify them?"

"Yes, Sir," Lyra's voice was faint, she swayed in the saddle. Tavington edged closer to hear her better. "I do know them. Mr. Emery and his daughter, Sarah... Emery."

A slight hesitation. If he had not been listening so closely, he would not have heard it.

"I see," he held her gaze steadily and watched as her cheeks flushed crimson, her eyes darted, her breathing quickened. All the tell tale signs, though he already knew - Lyra was lying to him. "Miss Mathan, may I remind you that you have already failed your duty to the Crown once, by failing to bring the Ghost's identity to our attention?"

She quivered, her eyes as wide as they could go, her fingers twitched on the belt around Bordon's waist.

"Do you dare to fail me now?"

The couple were exchanging fearful glances, eyes darting to Lyra, the only one who could help them - or betray them.

"William, please -" She whispered frantically.

"Enough." Tavington's voice was cold, his patience wearing thing. He dismounted gracefully and held his arms out to his lover, helping her climb down.

He held her arm in a possessive and tight grip as he marched her to stand before the pregnant woman and her father.

"Now, Miss Mathan. This woman's name. Who is her husband?"

Breathing hard, Lyra glanced at Sarah briefly before lifting her head to Tavington. "I told you, Sir. Sarah Emery. She has no husband."

"Really. _Miss_ Sarah Emery," he tightened his lips with and breathed deeply in an effort to control his rising anger.

Lyra, the Loyalist woman he had taken to be his lover, was lying to protect Patriots.

Lying to _him_. It was not to be borne.

"Miss Mathan," his tone commanding and crisp. "Is this woman's husband a rebel?"

"I told you, Sir. She has no husband." She stared at one of the gold buttons on his red and green coat, refusing to meet his piercing gaze. He held her close enough that she could not fail to notice his rising tension.

"Lyra, my sweet angel," his voice silky now, deceptively quiet, chill as a winter storm. "You are lying to me."

"No, I am not!" A frantic denial, she tried to pull away from him.

He studied her in silence for timeless moments struggling to control his rage. "Never make the mistake of thinking me a fool," his quiet voice, cool and intent.

"I - I don't think -" Lyra breathed.

"Silence," impatience flashed over his face and Lyra whimpered. Tavington slowly turned his hard gaze back to the family. It was time to bait them, to see what he could uncover.

"Very well, _Miss_ Emery," studying her face carefully, he curled his lip and his tone filled with contempt. "You are not married. You are carrying some man's bastard." His lingering gaze on her full stomach, amused and suggestive. "Tell me, do you even know who the father is?"

"You dare? I -" She drew in a quick, harsh breath as her father silenced her with his hand on her arm. The Colonel smiled cruelly.

"Yes? You what?" He raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," she muttered.

He would have laughed if he was not so damned angry.

"Perhaps you need some persuasion?" He nodded curtly at Wilkins who stepped forward with another Redcoat.

Without any prompting, Wilkins grabbed Sarah by her arm, yanking it behind the gasping woman's body. She screamed with pain and fear as Lieutenant Evans came forward, slowly and deliberately loading his pistol. Four more Dragoons held Mr. Emery back as the man bellowed and tried to push to his daughter. Tavington held Lyra in a tight embrace. Unable to move, Lyra cried out helplessly and watched with horror, breathing heavily as Evans sited his loaded pistol on Sarah's head.

"Please, no please no," Sarah chanted her plea.

"Her baby," Tavington said coldly, his face stone. Obedient to the Colonel's command, Evans moved his arm lower, siting his aim on Sarah's stomach.

Both women began to scream.

"Stop this William! Stop this now!" Lyra thrashed in Tavington's grip, writhed and yelled in a frenzy to free herself. Gritting his teeth and growling under his breath, he was hard pressed to hold her back and out of harms way.

"Be still!" He grated, gripping her tighter. Her hand thrashed up, and pain flared along his jaw where her nails scoured and dug into his skin. A loud bellow of rage and Tavington shoved Lyra away from him.

His patience at an end, he gripped her cape with one hand and raised his other arm back, slapping her hard across her face. Lyra twisted, she reeled from the force of the blow, landing heavily on her backside in the dirt. She glanced up at him, weeping steadily and with a whimper she covered her head with her arms - an automatic response, expecting more blows.

"How dare you?" Tavington breathed above her. He gripped her wrist and yanked her roughly to her feet. Lyra shuddered once then was still, frozen by his savage expression.

Suddenly Bordon was there, standing at Lyra's side.

"Sir. You commanded I find ten men to protect Miss Mathan, I am one of the ten."

"You will not protect her from me. Stand down."

"No, Sir."

"Are you disobeying a direct order, Bordon? Do you dare?"

_How far do you think our friendship stretches, Stephen?_

Bordon held the Colonel's gaze for precious moments, before shaking his head and stepping aside. The Colonel turned his glare on Lyra once more.

"Listen to me carefully now," Tavington's voice was chill and commanding. He tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "You have become my lover and I have promised to protect you. Nevertheless, my angel, if you continue to lie to me, I will lift your skirts, here and now, and whip your backside with my riding crop."

Lyra gasped and shuddered, her eyes wide and imploring. His stare was implacable, however, he was not moved by her silent plea - he would whip her without hesitation.

"Now," his drawl was slow, as though addressing a child and he leaned closer - almost nose to nose. "I will ask you again, Lyra. Which rebel is this woman married to?"

"Christopher Martin," she whispered, her eyes open wide with horror.

"Martin," Tavington lifted his head and smiled - hell, he _hummed_ with pleasure. A prize indeed - Christopher Martin - younger brother to the Ghost himself. This woman was Benjamin Martin's sister in law.

"Weapons down," he ordered and Evans lowered his pistol, the Dragoons who where keeping Emery subdued lowered theirs.

"Mrs. Martin," Tavington barely had to raise his voice, the woman was a mere few yards away. "I see why you wished to conceal your identity. Your husband is high on my list of rebels, his crimes almost equal that of the Ghost himself."

He curled his lip and began issuing orders. "Take her. Fire the house. Destroy the livestock, take the horses for Dragoons. Leave Mr. Emery here."

Lyra glanced over her shoulder, saw Mr. Emery laying prone on the ground and prayed he was merely unconscious. She felt a movement beside her and she turned her gaze back to Tavington. He stared down at her, his expression unreadable.

"Middleton!" He snapped without breaking his implacable gaze from hers. "Remove Miss Mathan from my sight, I do not trust myself with her right now."

Michael Middleton, the designated leader of Lyra's guard, stepped forward. He took her gently by the arms, unthreatening - his eyes full of pity. He helped her to walk to his horse, he mounted first and his brother Arthur helped her to mount behind him. Lyra clung to Michael's back and wept quietly.

Tavington regarded his young lover coldly as he ran the tip of one gloved finger along his lacerated jaw.

"Your orders, Sir?" Bordon asked carefully.

"Withdraw." He commanded curtly.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Lyra fought for calm, breathing deeply to stop her tears. They rode away from Mr. Emery's farm, leaving it ablaze. Her arms still clutched Michael's waist and they rode without speaking. Before long they came to yet another farm. This one was deserted.

It was Christopher Martin's farm. He had lived there with Sarah before he joined his brother in the rebel militia.

When they arrived, Colonel Tavington ordered the barns and house searched, then folded his gloved hands across the front of his saddle, waiting patiently. Bordon joined him, they spoke quietly though Lyra could not hear their words. He did not look her way, for which she was grateful - his face was so hard, his eyes so chill.

A completely different man, wearing her lovers face.

"Mr. Middleton," Lyra ventured. "Do you think I could relieve myself?"

"Certainly," he turned around in the saddle and held her arm while she dismounted and he climbed down after all. She felt Tavington's cold eyes on them though she kept her gaze averted as Middleton led her toward the house.

"Middleton?" Tavington snapped his question.

"Sir - she needs... The call of nature," Middleton explained. The Colonel tightened his lips but nodded curtly and Middleton continued to lead the way into the darkened interior. He helped her search through the bedrooms for a chamber pot.

"I'll leave you to it then, Miss Mathan. Call out if you need me."

"Thank you." The door shut quietly behind him and Lyra saw to her needs, though she had to take the pot to the small kitchen and empty it out afterward.

_A comb... Will Sarah think it stealing if I take a comb? I can give it to her later on. _She shuddered at the thought._ Lord, I hope they don't rape her, she might lose the baby!_

The house was so quiet, so empty, making her feel like the felt like the intruder she was. Wandering through the corridors, opening and closing doors until she was in another bedchamber. She closed the door behind her and began searching the drawers. Small clothes, Sarah's dresses... No combs, however or brushes or even a ribbon. She crossed the room to the bedside drawers, bending to open them.

_Just one measly comb!_ She prayed.

She felt hands encircle her waist. Twisting in the mans arms, she found herself face to face with Tavington. She gasped and swallowed hard, breathing deeply.

"Looking for something in particular?" He asked in a thick voice.

_How could I not have heard him?_

"Nothing..." She whispered and lowered her eyes. "A comb or ribbon..."

"You can borrow mine tonight."

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. "We should go downstairs."

"But there is a bed here," he said "And beds are so much softer than blanket rolls laid out on the ground."

She frowned and worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, her confusion returning tenfold. Her lover was back though she found no relief in it - he surely must be furious with her still, for lying to him.

He leaned down to kiss her neck, and she felt a surge of rage fire through her. She tried to shove him away with all her strength.

"You hit me again!" She gasped as hot tears seared her eyes. "After declaring that I was your lover and under your protection! You said you would not hurt me!"

Still holding her despite her efforts to push him away, he gazed down at her coldly.

"You lied to me, Lyra. You deliberately lied, to protect her - a Patriot. Benjamin Martin's sister in law. Out here, my authority is absolute, I will not allow you to question it again."

"I didn't -"

"You did," he insisted, voice stern. "You pleaded on her behalf, even tried to assist the woman when she came under threat." He held her gaze until she drew a deep breath and nodded curtly, accepting.

"William, can't you understand how difficult this is? I know Sarah, we attended the same church! The women of Pembroke weren't the nicest to me, but some of them showed kindness - Sarah was one of them."

Tavington tightened his lips, he had begun shaking his head almost as soon as she started to speak.

"Your actions today have shamed me, Lyra."

She huffed a sullen breath and turned her face away. He tilted her face back to his.

"You must understand this, Lyra. You profess to be a Loyalist woman, and as such I have offered you my protection. I was the cause of your being stranded in the first place. I am a Gentleman and therefore my men understand my determination to see you to safety." His gaze became more intent, his voice grew colder. "However, you have lied to me, disobeyed me. You have now proved, _before all of the Green Dragoons_, that you have wavering loyalties."

He studied her face as he spoke, watched as her expression altered from sullen, to chagrined.

"Now, you are not the first Loyalist to feel uncertainty, even some of my own beloved Dragoons have experienced it," he dropped his voice to almost a whisper. "Nevertheless, you are a complete stranger, one whom I have openly taken to my bed and, in the space of one day, have declared is now my lover. The men will be questioning my actions, searching for a weakness. They will wonder if you are a spy -"

Lyra shook her head frantically. "No, I am not, you must believe -"

"I do believe, darling. If I did not, you would be hanging from a tree at this very moment."

She gasped, and her face paled.

"Be that as it may, Lyra, you will now have to work doubly hard to win back the Green Dragoons trust. The line between Loyalist and Patriot has been drawn, there will be no more crossing it. No more lying to protect the local rebels, simply because they are acquaintances or even friends. I do not care if you attended the same church or if one of their mothers helped you through some sickness.

"In future, if you wish to remain under my protection, you must show unwavering Loyalty toward me _at all times_, I will accept no less from you. Anything else shames me before my men and I will not tolerate it. Do. You. Understand?"

She nodded gravely. "I do."

"I will not tolerate any more foolishness, Lyra."

"I know," she lowered her eyes again, her tone was resigned. "I am sorry, I just..." she swallowed her excuses. "No - I am sorry."

"Very well," he studied her for a moment longer, then sighed heavily. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers softly. "What am I to do with you?" he breathed against her mouth.

"Forgive me?" She sighed as his lips brushed along her neck.

"I am not known for my mercy, or my forgiveness," he rested his forehead against hers. "Are you a witch, Miss Lyra Mathan? Have you cast a spell on me?"

"What?" Her laugh was shaky.

"I can think of no other cause. I cannot stop thinking about you. I dreamed of you last night, every time I closed my eyes - your beautiful eyes... For Christ's sake, we only met yesterday!"

He crashed his lips to hers with a need filled groan. How many women had he bedded since arriving in the Colonies? He had lost count long ago. They warmed his blankets, for a night, sometimes even a week. He had the disconcerting feeling, however, that he was not going to find it so easy to let Lyra go when the time came.

Turning her slightly, he laid her down on her back across the bed and lay on his side next to her, his head propped on his hand.

"Hmmm," a low moan as he leaned forward to nuzzle her neck and throat with his lips, placing one hand over her stomach.

Lyra closed her eyes and sighed. He shifted his weight, two fingers gently under her chin turned her face to his. When he lowered his lips to hers, she leaned forward eagerly, reaching her hands up to touch his face, his bound hair, the nape of his neck, resting her palm on his cheek above the dried bloody furrows her nails had caused.

"Lord, I really dug in there, didn't I?" Trailing her fingers over the wounds. "If you have a salve I can put it on for you."

"Later," he murmured and crushed his lips to hers. Kissing in earnest now, an explosion of sensation thrilled through her as the tip of his tongue toyed with hers. She sighed with pleasure and gripped his neck with one hand as he moved across her to cover her body with his - she could feel his hardness against her thigh. She lowered one arm down his back, moving it up, under his coat. Annoyingly, she couldn't push her hand up any higher, with his belt cinched his around his waist.

He was moving against her thigh and she pushed back, matching his rhythm.

"Christ, I want to be inside you," he groaned.

"I am very sore, William," she gasped.

"I know, we will wait a night, as I promised... It does not mean we cannot find pleasure, however." Tavington shifted his weight again, moving to lay between her thighs, he pressed his bulge against her. Breathing deeply, he resumed the rhythmic movement, trying to catch her quim.

Lyra's breathing was ragged, she pushed against him harder, demanding more, his erection felt too padded through their clothes. As he increased the pace and pressure for her, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, gripping his coat with her fingers. Completely lost, she could barely think through the haze of sensations flooding her body. The warmth and excitement becoming a torrent inside her. She began to whimper, squirming up against him faster, ever harder.

Gripping the back of his neck tightly with one hand, the fingers of her other hand in his bound hair pulling tight, she let out an explosive gasp as her climax took hold of her, lost in the flood of warmth and thrilling sensation. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her skirts around her thighs. Shuddering and moaning deep in her throat as the waves crashed through her.

"Oh, my Lord..." She murmured as her release faded. She loosened her grip on his hair and swallowed hard.

_That she could lose control like this... _He thought with wonder.

He had so much more control than she - he merely watched her as he bought her to climax, her painful grip on his neck and hair had added to his own pleasure.

When he felt his own climax begin to build, he grabbed her arms and pinned them down over her head, gripping her wrists. She gasped with surprise, but made no protest. He stared into her eyes as he pushed hard against her, faster, altering his position to increase his pleasure.

She watched his differing expressions across his face. From concentration, to determination, then finally release. His breathing came out in a rasp and when he felt his seed pulse up the length of his hardness, he crushed his lips to hers kissing her deeply, harshly, nipping at her lip with his teeth. He pressed tight against her until the waves of his climax ebbed and waned.

Eyes locked, they lay still, apart from their deep breathing, Tavington still holding Lyra's wrists down, he took one last shuddering breath and released his hold.

Long minutes passed as he kissed her gently while they calmed. Eventually the noises of the Dragoons outside intruded on their private moments and Tavington reluctantly broke the kiss. He did not move off her, however, just kept himself propped on his arms above her.

"William?" she reached up to stroke his face, his fingers trailed over the dried scratches. "Do you really think the Dragoons will be suspicious of me now?"

"Some of them perhaps. However, word has spread like wildfire through the ranks, of you telling me where the Ghost's camp is. As long as you do not do it again, Lyra, they will put it down to the stress of the moment."

"Very well. You know, I truly thought you and Captain Bordon were going to fight back there at Emery's farm."

"No, not fight. I would have had him put in chains and he knows it. He has never challenged me so openly before. I think you _are_ a witch, and you've put a spell on Bordon also."

"Silly." She leaned up to catch his lips with hers. "I don't understand why you don't let those rebel women go, William. You know where he is now - you don't need to draw the rebels to you -"

"It is a military matter. He will have fortified his camp, Black Swamp will be very hard to attack. There is no point heading there now, in any case - for he will not be there. I am certain he is out there now, shadowing my movements, waiting for the moment to strike. I will offer him that opportunity tonight, on the ground of my choosing."

"Tonight?" Lyra breathed.

"Do not fear," he kissed her brow gently. "If I do not manage to catch him when he comes for the women, I will wait a day or so to give him time to retreat to his camp, then Bordon, Wilkins and I will work on a strategy to attack them at Black Swamp."

"Oh... So many if's, its all so uncertain, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"So you can't give me any idea of when we'll be heading to Charles Town?"

He remembered her words from the previous night and once again felt the hot spike of jealousy shoot through him.

_Mrs. Bryant says I must marry right away, with Smith being my Stepfather, what is mine is his by right._

"Are you so eager to be rid of me then?" He tried to keep his voice smooth.

"What?"

"You said, as soon as you arrive in Charles Town you must begin looking for a husband."

"Oh... Well, thats not why I was asking, William. I just want to know how much longer I'll be stuck riding behind Bordon or Middleton. I don't know how you do it, all day every day - I've never been so sore in my life."

"Hmm, well, we won't be leaving until the rebels attack us or until we attack them at Black Swamp. Another week or so, by my reckoning."

He moved off her abruptly and began righting his clothes, thinking all the while of what she had left unsaid.

Lyra had not denied that she would be searching for a husband once they reached Charles Town. They would go their separate ways...

He shrugged as he helped her up from the bed. Why should he care...


	9. Chapter 9 - Burn it, William

**Chapter Nine - Burn It, William.**

They headed outside into the bright daylight, Lyra shaded her eyes with her hand until they adjusted to the glare.

"Who will I ride with now?" She asked him.

"Bordon again. Seeing you with your arms around Michael's waist makes me insanely jealous," he smiled though he was telling the simple truth.

"I seriously doubt that," she laughed and walked toward Bordon, Tavington followed slowly. "I am to ride with you again, Captain."

Bordon bowed low. "I will mount first, then, and Colonel Tavington can help you up behind me." The two men glanced at each other, Tavington stiff, Bordon submissive.

Lyra shuddered, imagine Bordon in chains for his near insubordination.

"Your orders, Sir?" Captain Wilkins trotted over, guiding his horse until he was before his commander.

Tavington glanced at the house, then he turned to Lyra expectantly. She swallowed but spoke up clearly - she had learned her lesson.

"This house belongs to..." a small falter, knowing they would be leaving another blazing home behind them. "Christopher Martin."

"Thank you, Miss Mathan," the Colonel smiled warmly and Lyra flushed. "Burn it, Wilkins."

"Very good, Sir." Wilkins whirled his horse and began barking orders to his men. The Green Dragoons were soon lighting firebrands and were throwing them toward the house.

Tavington edged his horse close to Bordon. He glanced at Lyra when she touched his arm.

"William," her voice was pitched low, only Bordon and Tavington could hear. "You won't... Mrs. Martin - she is heavy with child. Please - you won't let your men have her, will you?"

A strange expression crossed his features. Pain? Had her words hurt him? Surely not...

"You think I am a monster." He stated coldly.

"No, I just... You are so unpredictable. I do not _know_ you!"

"I would not harm a pregnant woman, Lyra."

Even Bordon was shaking his head, agreeing with the Colonel. "He would not, Miss Mathan."

"Oh. Very well. I am sorry for assuming you might."

His face softened slightly, she was right - she did not know him, he could hardly blame her for assuming he would have Mrs. Martin raped considering his other orders.

Shortly later they road out to the next farm.

:::::::::::::::::::::

"That's five farms Captain," Lyra's voice was forlorn. "And he's taken two more girls..."

"You are doing the right thing, Miss Mathan." Bordon replied over his shoulder, adjusting slightly and moving with the horses gait.

"Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"You have no cause to - you are doing nothing wrong. Tavington was quite correct, there is no room for wavering Loyalties, not now."

"I know," she sighed.

"Miss Mathan, do not worry. I doubt the new girls will be... harmed. Tavington has made his point, he has no cause to unleash the men on them now."

"Then why take them?"

"The rebels don't know the girls won't be harmed..."

"Oh. They are just more enticement to draw Martin in, then?"

"Yes. Besides - its not all doom and gloom. You saved that other families home - the Samsons."

"It was a near thing - he thought I was lying again."

"It was an incredible story you have to admit. Five women living in the home and caring for the farm - a brood of children running about and no men folk to be seen. Of course he would assume their men were serving in the militia."

"I know, I understand... It was quite tragic, the fire that killed them. They were brave - saving those little children. It would have been a grave injustice, burning their home to the ground - they are pacifists!"

"Indeed."

The fell silent as Tavington picked up the pace, galloping along the road to the next farm.

The Green Dragoons thundered down the lane toward the farmhouse. Tavington drew rein, already turning to Lyra with a question on his lips as Bordon drew close. His lover stared at the house with an indiscernible expression.

"Miss Mathan? Whose farm?"

She startled out of her reverie, her eyes alighted on his. "Mine."

"Ah." He nodded understanding. "Come, let me help you down."

She half climbed, half fell, landing in his arms. They entered the obviously empty house, side by side. Lyra glanced around, her expression still unreadable.

Wilkins and Bordon followed.

"Thomas Smith," Wilkins muttered. "He has been riding with the Ghost for some time now, a Captain by all reports. He has been particularly violent with his attacks on Loyalist families in the area."

Tavington caught Lyra's gaze - he had told her of it the night before, but she still looked startled.

"It's simply too unbelievable. He only shows people his 'good' side. Has he really been hurting Loyalists?"

"Yes, the stories that have been coming out... Rape, torture, murder. The worst was the Mayfields -"

"Wilkins," Tavington warned as Lyra swayed and clutched the table for support.

"William," she breathed. "I am so sorry - I should have gotten word, somehow, I should have braved the woods, left the Santee, found a Redcoat... I am so sorry - none of this would be happening."

"Yes, you should have," he said firmly. "I am pleased you finally see it, Lyra."

It pleased Tavington that she would make this admission in Captain James Wilkins hearing, for the Loyalist militiaman had never wavered in _his_ loyalties. The Colonel took her arm to steady her and softened his tone, "be that as it may, none of these atrocities can be laid at your feet, darling."

"He has been here recently," Bordon said. "Or someone has."

The Colonel turned to his adjutant, his hand still supporting Lyra.

"The fireplace is warm, and the kettle on the stove is tepid." Moving about the room idly, Bordon inspected drawers and cupboards, searching for letters or anything that might give them information about the rebels. He found nothing, so entered the back sleeping rooms to continue his investigation. The furniture was still there, but the drawers where empty.

"He is here?"

Tavington glanced down at her, startled to see naked terror in her eyes.

"Lord, I was hoping he wouldn't be one of the rebels who will try and free the women! He is out there, he will take me!" She bent forward, almost retching.

"Lyra, calm yourself!" He rubbed her back and pulled her close. "No harm will come to you. I will see you to Charles Town as I promised. You will not see him again."

"You do not know what he is like! He hurt her, and me. We were always covered in bruises. Mrs. Bryant says Mamma died of sickness but I don't believe it! He killed her, I know he did! He'll force me to marry him. I'll have to bed him. He'll -"

"Stop this now," he said firmly. She shook her head violently and pushed his hands away.

"Why didn't you just let me go with Mrs. Bryant? I would have been there by now - in Charles Town, safe!"

"Perhaps, but you are here now, with me. There is no point worrying about what could have been - you are surrounded by almost two hundred Dragoons, ten of which have been allocated as your own personal guard," he cupped her face and stared at her intently. "No harm will come to you."

"Oh, God..." the fight left her, he watched it drain from her as she sagged against him.

"Shhh," he soothed her. "I will keep my promise, Lyra. All will be well."

"No, it won't," a quiet murmur.

He tightened his lips with frustration, she did not believe him.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Is there anything you wish to take from here? You won't be coming back again," Tavington stroked her hair from her face and she shifted beside him, wrapping her arms around his neck. They lay on her bed in her little room.

"No, when Mrs. Bryant came we loaded all my belongings on that cart, we left nothing behind. Hopefully she has taken it to Charles Town by now, like you said."

"I'm sure she did," he murmured against her lips, kissing her gently. "So, this is you room..." He glanced around with a frown.

"It is not much to look at, is it? My room in my house back in Charles Town is so much finer than this."

"I can well imagine. Lord, this house is a hovel - you should not have been forced to live here."

Lyra shrugged. "It is over now... I won't have to see this house again."

"No, you won't." Another tender kiss. "You must have some fairly horrible memories of this place," his expression became mischievous. "Care to make some new ones?"

"You know, Colonel Tavington, you play with '_it_' far too much. It will fall off, one day."

Tavington laughed aloud. "Even if that were so, sweet angel, it would not stop me."

Still chuckling, he lowered his lips to her neck and kissed her until she sighed and cooed. Before long their quiet moans and heavy breathing filled the small room as they kissed and pleasured each other. All too soon, Lyra was planting her heels against the mattress and lifting her pelvis up against Tavington's fingers, keening as her climax swept through her. The Colonel was already replete, his seed spill somewhere on the bare mattress.

The two remained on her bed, kissing and sighing, caressing one another, long after their pleasure abated.

::::::::::::::::

"What do you think your men think of all this? We keep disappearing, first at the Martin's house and now here..."

He kissed the shell of her ear. "I dare say they think I am a lucky bastard indeed."

She touched his face tenderly and he drew away to gaze down at her.

"Where to now, William? More farms?"

"Hmm, no. We need to make an early camp, there are many preparations to be done before tonight. MacIntyre's farm - do you know of him?"

"I do, he left for Charles Town long ago - the house is deserted."

"He won't mind us spending the night there."

"Oh, can we sleep in a bed then?" Lyra asked wistfully. "Would he mind that, do you think?"

"He wouldn't mind," his tone turned cautious. "But darling, his house was burned by rebels over a month ago, had you not heard?"

"No! Oh, how terrible. Does he know?"

"Yes, I'm sure he does. So no, sweet angel, no bed for you tonight."

Lyra sighed, unable to hide her disappointment.

"Come, Lyra," Tavington rose from the bed, giving her a rump a sharp slap as he did. "Lets see if there is any lunch left, we'll be leaving soon."

Lyra rose with a frown, rubbing her backside and shooting him an accusing glance. The Colonel offered her his arm and a mocking smile, and led her from the room, and out of the house into the daylight, her hand now held securely in his.

He noticed Lyra lowered her eyes again, not wanting to meet the gazes of the Dragoon sentries waiting outside. Embarrassed, he supposed, the Dragoons knew fully well what he was doing with Lyra, alone in the house. Tavington nodded at his men, and they fell in behind him.

After a brief lunch Tavington announced it was time to ride out. The Dragoons began packing up the camp while Lyra stood beside Tavington, her fingers wound through his. At all the other farms they had visited, Tavington had ordered the houses burned - except for one, when she managed to convince him the menfolk were dead, not serving the rebel militia. It quickly became apparent that he was not going to order her house burned.

She turned her head to gaze at the house and eight years worth of anger, hate and despair rose up inside her.

A cleansing. It was a horror, this seemingly pretty cottage held nothing but horrors.

"William?" Tavington turned to her, eyebrows raised. "Burn it."

"Burn it?" He could not have looked more shocked if she sprouted wings and flew away.

"Burn it." Her voice was decisive, commanding.

"If that is what your wish, Lyra," Tavington replied softly, reaching up to gently touch her face.

She nodded, placing one hand on his chest, and looking up into his eyes. "It is… Will you see to it, please?" She asked in a small voice, suddenly vulnerable again. He squeezed her hand lightly.

"Bordon, bring me a firebrand." Tavington threw the first lit brand himself, his Dragoon's following suit. Lyra stood and watched the blaze for some time, Bordon on one side of her, Tavington on the other.

"Time to go," Tavington said, not ungently, taking her hand again.

This time, when they road out from the farm, Lyra felt no anxiety at all to be leaving a blazing house behind them.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Benjamin watched the camp from the shadows, concealed within a leafy brush. His men would have the camp surrounded soon, all he could do for now was settle down to wait until the Dragoons had bedded down for the evening. Tavington outnumbered him two to one, and Benjamin had no intention of attacking until most of the Butcher's men were asleep.

Even though full dark had fallen, it was early yet. He watched Tavington, sitting with Bordon and Wilkins by a large fire in the very centre of camp. One of the Middleton boys was seated with them also, they all seemed jovial - drinking from a shared flask of Whiskey, or so he assumed. He could not hear their words, though the occasional burst of laughter came to him.

In fact, except for the occasional Dragoon who was already asleep in his blanket roll, most of the Loyalist men sat around large camp fires, laughing and chatting, sharing whiskey around. Benjamin frowned, he had thought Tavington would keep a stricter rein on his men than this.

Tavington. Benjamin's frown deepened as he gazed at the man, apparently at his ease, sitting on an over turned tree trunk with his legs stretched before him. For many months, the Ghost had not been able to _think_ of the man without the desire to do violence. And here he was, sitting only yards away. It was all Benjamin could do not to rush in and attack his son's murderer.

And his fiancé's lover. Charlotte had broken down when she told him what had happened. Grief stricken for being foolish enough to allow herself to be seduced. Benjamin could barely look at her now, though he had loved her so very well, for so many years. Gabriel could barely look at his Aunt either. She had bedded the Butcher, and by Nathan's report, had enjoyed it.

The children had hidden in various places on the grounds and within the house itself. Charlotte had been caught and dragged back into the house and Nathan, who had been concealed close by, had heard all of it. He was of an age to understand, and did not believe it when his Aunt tried to tell Benjamin she had been raped.

Martin closed his hand around his dagger, breathing heavily with rage as he watched a young Dragoon whisper something in Tavington's ear. The Butcher smiled broadly, clearly satisfied, and repeated the report to his Captains. Just then, Lyra Mathan came in to view.

Benjamin watched her curiously. Emery's farm, burnt to the ground, his daughter Sarah - Ben's own sister in law, taken captive. Emery told how Lyra had lied to protect Sarah, and how Tavington had slapped her and threatened to whip her. He also told Benjamin of hearing Tavington call Lyra his sweet angel.

Martin had not mentioned the latter to Smith, of course. He needed to know the truth of it himself, first. Captive? Or was she there willingly? Had she become the Butcher's lover? The answer became abundantly clear when Lyra chose to sit down beside Tavington, though there was plenty of room for her to sit elsewhere, and the Butcher casually laid his arm over her lap while still chatting with the other men. Lyra combed her wet hair and smiled fondly, even adding her bit to the conversation.

Companions... They were easy with each other - Lyra was _comfortable_ with the Green Dragoons.

After a short time, the other men moved away, leaving Lyra and the Butcher alone. As he watched, they turned to one another and Tavington leaned in close, kissing Lyra gently. Martin, nursing his rage, wondered if Charlotte had gazed at Tavington with as much adoration as Lyra was now.

His lips moved to her neck, and Benjamin imagined he could hear her sigh of pleasure from his place of concealment. His eyes where riveted on the pair, he could not break his hard stare. The Butcher seemed to be whispering in Lyra's ear, and the girl looked startled. She cast a quick look around camp, then turned back to her lover, whispering back and shaking her head.

Tavington seemed to be trying to coax her into doing something and after a few long moments Lyra stood up and moved to sit on the Colonel's lap. They resumed kissing almost immediately, Lyra's lips moving across Tavington's neck now. The Ghost had seen his enemy close up only a few times, and the Butcher's face had always been cold, hard. For the first time ever, Martin watched Tavington's face, warmed with pleasure, smiling as he stroked the woman in his lap.

Lyra disappeared in Benjamin's vision, it was now Charlotte kissing Tavington's neck, it was Charlotte's hand Tavington took and placed on the bulge contained in his buckskin breeches. Charlotte that began to make a protest, Charlotte who Tavington kissed into submission. Charlotte's hand circled slowly, and it was all Benjamin could do not to rush in then and there, and cut them both to shreds. He shook his head and forced himself to see the woman, Lyra, not a vision of Charlotte.

Lyra's hands, again at Tavington's urging, moved to his belt buckle and before long his buttons where undone and Lyra was freeing the man's heavy erection.

"Have they no shame?" Billings muttered quietly as he watched Lyra's hand grip her lover's length and tugged gently, then with greater insistence as the two kissed passionately. Tavington drew away to stare at Lyra, his face twisted with the agony of pleasure. Lyra's hand was a blur of movement on Tavington's erection and after a short time the Butcher buried his head in her neck and Benjamin curled his lip to see the other man's seed burst out of him.

Now would be the time to attack, Benjamin knew. Tavington, catch him with his cock hanging out of his breeches.

Tavington's hand disappeared up Lyra's skirts, the girl buried her face in his neck, Martin could see her writhe with pleasure.

The Ghost was poised to strike, it took all his self control to keep still, keep hidden and wait for the agreed upon time. But then a woman screamed, on the far side of camp. The scream came again and Benjamin recognized who the pained voice belonged to.

His sister in law, Sarah Martin.

Lyra's head jerked toward the sound, Tavington was whispering in her ear but she shook her head, her face clearly distressed. There was a certain something in Tavington's expression that gnawed at Martin. With eyes wide open, he took in the scene again. A great foreboding took hold of him.

Tavington, purposefully sitting with Lyra in the centre of camp, by the light of the fire, rather than taking his lover somewhere in the darkness...

The Dragoons, drinking and carousing while a small number of them slept. The ones in their blankets did not move, not even to turn over or lift their head to shout at the others to shut it and go to sleep. Tavington _would never _have such an unruly camp.

Their weapons, close to hand of course - no self respecting soldier would have them packed away. But these weapons were ready to be used, swords already out of the scabbards, pistols placed just so - not in their holsters...

Sarah's sudden screams...

"He knows where are here," Benjamin said finally. Seconds it took, since Sarah screamed. Seconds only, but Benjamin knew - it was a trap, Lyra and Sarah were both bait. Before he could order the retreat, however, his own Patriot Militia came surging out of the trees, one group led by a screaming Smith - sent into a blood rage after seeing his own stepdaughter pleasuring Tavington and being pleasured by turn. The other group led by Benjamin's own brother, Christopher, sent into a blood rage after hearing his pregnant wife's screams.

"Fuck!" The Ghost had no choice. He lurched out of the bushes to assist his men. The alert Dragoons jumped up and began fighting - not a single one of them even mildly tipsy. The Dragoons 'sleeping' did not rise, their blanket rolls filled with straw - the soldier in Martin knew the missing Dragoons would be closing in on them from behind, blocking their escape.

Martin headed directly for Tavington, who had shoved himself back into his breeches and was already slashing as the enemy closed. A group of Dragoons, nine of them, grabbed Lyra and hauled her to safety. Martin's way to Tavington was clear. The two men hissed, their face twisted with bloodlust as they began their own private dance to the death.


	10. Chapter 10 - Battle of Macintyre's Farm

**Chapter Ten - Battle of MacIntyre's Farm**

"Smile, Middleton, for Christ's sake," Tavington gritted through his teeth. His face muscles where beginning to hurt from his forced joviality. "And have a drink." He passed the flask to young Arthur Middleton.

"Sir, we can't get drunk now!" Nevertheless he took a swill from the flask. His eyes widened with surprise and Tavington's forced smile became real.

"Yes, water. Do you think me so foolish?"

"No, Sir. I should have known." He glanced around the camp at the Dragoons, all laughing and drinking, passing around flasks among themselves. "Water for them too, I take it?" He nudged his head in their direction.

"Quite obviously. Martin is out there -"

"With a good hundred men, from what we could see," Wilkins with Bordon strode around the large camp fire to sit down not far from Tavington. Both wore stupid smiles on their faces and shared a flask, James stumbled slightly as though drunk. "Still we out number then two to one."

"I will not leave it to chance. I want this fight to be on our terms and I want it over with quickly. They mean to wait until we have all bedded down for the night, but if my plan works they will be attacking within the next hour."

A young Dragoon, Peter Danielson came over and whispered in Tavington's ear. The Colonel's smile became real once more.

"Seventy Five Dragoons are in position now, ready to take the rebels from behind when the attack begins. We will have them pinned here, trapped."

"Excellent," Bordon nodded. "Now we just have to -"

Wilkins barked a laugh and slapped Middleton on the back, as though the young man had told him a great joke. Tavington chuckled with approval, the men where playing their parts perfectly. Martin's militia will become far less cautious if they believe they were attacking a camp drunk on whiskey.

"- coax him out. Are you sure this will work, Colonel? It seems unnecessarily cruel, and she could lose the babe."

"I will take that chance, Bordon. If we wait, the fight will be on Martin's terms and that I will not allow. More rebels could be on their way to join him as it is. Wilkins, you will try to be careful of the woman, cause her only enough pain to make her cry out. I want her husband to hear her shouts and come rushing in to aid her ahead of time, I want them enraged when they attack, they will make for far easier adversaries."

"What of the other two bands? Martin himself is leading one, Smith the other, both have thirty men each. How do we draw _them_ in?"

"Smith is leading the other?" Tavington was surprised. "I am certain that The Ghost will be rash enough to come to his brother's aid, and as for Smith... Yes, I have just the thing..." A slow smile crossed his face, this was going to be easier than he thought.

"You mean to use Miss Mathan against him," it was not a question and Bordon's tone was disapproving. "Will you cause _her_ just enough pain to make her cry out?"

"Pain?" The Colonel was genuinely startled. "No, Captain. I would not hurt her, not even for this. Lyra is Smith's weakness, however. He has spent the last two years telling the girl that as soon as she turned eighteen, he would wed her."

"Good Lord! He's her stepfather!" Wilkins' forced smile slipped.

"Disgusting!" Arthur spat.

"Poor Miss Mathan - why would he do such a thing?" Bordon.

"She has a small inheritance, apparently and a house that were to be hers when she turned eighteen, it is why she was heading for Charles Town. If Smith wished to marry her, it stands to reason he will become quite incensed when he sees her in my arms, does it not?"

"Perhaps, and if he is leading the band, his rebels will follow to protect him -"

"As will Christopher Martin's. Benjamin Martin will have no choice but to follow in to aid his rebels," Wilkins was eager. "When do we begin?"

"When Lyra comes back from washing up at the stream, all of you are to disappear. You will spread the word, none of the Dragoons are to watch, or even glance at Lyra and I when we begin. I will not have them ogling Lyra while we are... Well, any caught watching will be whipped."

"Tavington! What in the world do you plan to have her doing?" Bordon gasped.

"Never mind that. Just make sure the Dragoons know they are not to watch. The rebels are the only audience I will tolerate."

"You are sitting in the centre of camp, Sir. I do not think Miss Mathan will be... amenable... to this plan. She Lady and as such will have a strong sense of what is proper. I doubt she will couple with you right here in the middle of camp."

"Bordon, Miss Mathan is innocent, very young and _very_ eager to please me. She may require some gentle coaxing but in the end she will do anything I desire of her."

"I wonder how Miss Mathan would feel to be used as bait. I doubt she would be so eager to please you..."

"She will not learn of this, however, will she Captain?" Tavington's voice was suggestive, dangerous.

"Of course not, not from me. Mark my words though, Colonel. Miss Mathan is no fool and when she discovers that you had her pleasure you, in front of rebels for the soul purpose of drawing her stepfather out, she will be less than pleased with you."

"Perhaps. Again, I will take that chance. The Ghost is sitting yards from here, watching, this very moment. I will do what is required." His face set like stone.

"Even if it means shaming your lover by _fucking_ her right here in front of everyone." Bordon arched an eyebrow and Tavington tensed.

Wilkins could almost taste the violence in the air. In an effort to diffuse the tension, he laughed aloud and slapped Arthur on the back again. The Colonel and his adjutant both recalled themselves to the task at hand and forced smiles to their faces.

"That was a clever move, stuffing Dragoon bedrolls with straw," Wilkins said.

"Yes, I am sure Martin is well aware how many Dragoons I have under my command, he would certainly miss it if seventy five suddenly disappeared. I do not want to give him reason to suspect that the men are out there, waiting to pin him in. Here comes Lyra now," Tavington murmured. Wilkins swiftly changed the subject, still smiling for all he was worth.

The Colonel watched his lover approach, she had managed to brush her dresses clean, her long blonde hair was wet and as she sat down close beside him he caught a whiff of strawberries. He draped his arm across her lap and she smiled at him worshipfully.

Bordon need not have worried, Tavington had no intention of 'fucking her right there in front of everyone'. Smith had taught Lyra well, and for two years she had been forced to pleasure him with her hands, as he stood before her, until he climaxed.

All Tavington needed to do was coax Lyra to do the same to him - in the centre of camp. That was the difficult part, Lyra would not be agreeable to such a display before all his Dragoons. The Colonel did not doubt his control over the girl, however. She would, indeed, do anything he commanded her to do.

And once Smith saw his stepdaughters hands pleasuring another man, the Butcher at that, he would become enraged - Tavington did not doubt it in the slightest - he was counting on it, in fact.

"Hmm, to be clean again," Lyra sighed. "There is no greater feeling in the world."

"None?" He murmured with a smirk.

"William!" She whispered back with a nervous glance at the other men. The Colonel eyed her appreciatively as she blushed and busied herself combing her hair.

Michael Middleton, who had been guarding Lyra and escorting her through the camp, sat nearby and Lyra handed him a small bottle.

"Thank you, Mr. Middleton. My hair doesn't feel like straw any more. Ouch," she frowned as she hit a snag in her hair.

"Ah, Michael's lent you his scented oils..." Wilkins smirked. "You should have a look in his rucksack, Miss Mathan, you may find a spare shift."

"Shut it, Wilkins," Middleton threw a friendly punch at his Captain.

"Or perhaps a garter..."

"Yes, our Middleton takes care of himself with more care than most women I know," Bordon quipped. "Carrying scented oils of all things."

"You never know when you have to impress the ladies, now. Personal grooming is of utmost importance."

"Michael," his brother, Arthur, rolled his eyes. "You've always taken it a little bit further than the rest of us, though, haven't you?

"Well, I for one am grateful." Lyra smiled. "I feel almost pampered."

"Lord, the sooner we get you to Charles Town the better, if you are beginning to think this is being pampered!" Michael exclaimed.

"Hmm, no more riding... I look forward to the day we ride in. I'll never look at another horse again."

"And here I was thinking you may wish to join the Dragoons," Arthur grinned. "Patriot women are fighting, why not Loyalist women?"

"Hmm, why not indeed. The swords are too heavy for a start and those buckskin breeches..? No - I'll leave the fighting to the men, I think."

The Dragoons chuckled and as if on queue began to make their excuses and shuffled away. Tavington saw them move amongst the men, quietly giving his orders that they were not to watch. The Dragoons began turning their back on Tavington and Lyra, others purposefully looked in any other direction.

Almost as soon as they were 'alone', Tavington turned to Lyra and began kissing her tenderly, eager to get the next phase of his plan started. Wilkins would be heading over to Mrs. Sarah Martin now. He was not to rape her or do anything else that might harm the babe, but Sarah would be hurt - just enough to cause her visible and verbal distress. The Colonel expected to hear a scream or two from her any minute now - her husband should be incensed enough to lose control and rush the camp.

"Sit in my lap, darling," he murmured in Lyra's ear.

"No, William. Not here - everyone can see -"

"No one is watching angel."

"Can't we go somewhere quieter, and darker? What is the matter with your men tonight, are they drunk?"

"No, my sweet," he nuzzled at her ear. "And we can't go where its darker - its not safe. Look around you, is anyone looking at us?"

"Well, no..." after a quick glance.

"Then sit on my knee," another kiss as encouragement. Lyra sighed and sat down on his knee and they resumed kissing again.

"This is unseemly, William," Lyra's eyes darted to the Dragoons. None of them where paying them any mind, none where looking at them at all. And Tavington's lips felt so nice on her neck, Lyra sighed and leaned into him.

"Stop worrying about them, my sweet," he turned her face and kissed her lips gently. "Lord, I've been thinking about you all day," he murmured quietly. It was true, to his dismay, the girl truly had cast a spell on him. Still, he would use it without qualms.

"You have?" Lyra breathed, her innocent eyes open wide, running her hands along his neck up his cheek. "Truly?"

"Hmm hmmm," he murmured, his lips moved to her suckle her ear lobe and Lyra shivered. "Have you not thought of me?" His voice taunting, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," she swallowed and traced her finger over his lips.

"Did you think about last night?" he taunted, trailing kissed along her jaw. "And this morning?" More kisses, and his lips met hers again.

"And later, back at my house," Lyra blushed to admit it and Tavington chuckled.

"Yes, that was..." he sighed and kissed her deeply. "Very pleasant."

"Hmm," Lyra melted against him. "Pleasant."

"Little one, I am aching for you..." Tavington moved his lips to her neck again, her throat and lower - to the top of her breasts. He pulled down her bodice as far as he could and nuzzled her flesh. "I wish we could get rid of these stays, darling," he groaned against her chest. "I wish to kiss your breasts, your nipples..."

"Oh..." Lyra wrapped her fingers through his hair and kissed the top of his head. "We should have, earlier, at the farm house..."

"Christ, we should have!" He glanced up at her through lowered lids, heavy with lust. He caught her full bottom lip between his teeth, nipping and suckling gently until she moaned. "Lyra..." he took hold of her hand and placed it, palm down, on the front of his breeches, holding it against his throbbing erection as she tried to pull away.

"William... We mustn't - they will see -"

"No one is watching," his voice insistent. "Can't you feel my need?"

"Lord, you are so hard," she whimpered and began massaging and molding him through his breeches.

"And aching, my angel." He latched onto her lips again with a despairing groan, his tongue stroked hers into submission. "You have such power over me, my darling."

"Mmmnnnn," Lyra whimpered against his lips, her eyes squeezed shut and Tavington smiled as he kissed her. Yes, she would do anything he wanted.

"Unbuckle my belt," he coaxed gently. "Free me, I need to feel your hands on me."

"William -"

"No. Do it, Lyra. Now." The Colonel commanded fiercely.

"Ohhhh," another whimper and beyond thinking of arguing further, she obeyed. Soon his cock was freed and Tavington thrust forward as she wrapped her hand around him, a tight, firm fist.

"Harder, my angel," he growled in her ear. "Agh, perfect darling!" Knowing the rebels in the woods where watching heightened his pleasure. If only they gave him enough time to come before attacking.

Lyra's hand became a blur of movement, tugging him fiercely. "Oh, I'm aching too Colonel," she moaned, her face set in a frown of lust and need. She watched her lover, his face twisted with agony as he snapped his hips back and forth, his cock felt hot in her hand.

"Christ," he swore and gasped for air, "Don't say that, I will be undone."

"It is true," Lyra whispered, sensing the effect her words had on him. "I have such a throb, William. I feel so hot. Lord, I think I would take you inside me, now, sore or not."

"Fuck!" He gripped her waist to steady himself and slammed back and forth in her grip. "More, tell me more!"

"I don't know what you've done to me," she lowered her lips to his ear and kept tugging him, feeling his cock twitch beneath her fingers, he was close. "You've woken something inside me and I need you."

"Need me to what, need me to what!" The tension built to a crescendo, it was about to break, fire would soon be coursing through his body. His heart pounded in time to his thrusts and he bit back a scream as white hot pleasure burst. He buried his face in the nook of her neck, groaning low and panting as thick ropes of seed shot up his length and spilled over her hand. He pulled her closer, his eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to quell his ragged breathing and calm - if they were attacked right now, he doubted he could respond, doubted he could summon the bloodlust needed to fight.

Lyra breathed heavily and when Tavington lifted his head to hers she whimpered and kissed him deeply.

"Need me to what?" He murmured, calm now, already wiping her hand clean with a handkerchief.

"Oh, William... Please - take me somewhere else, where its dark," she paused and whimpered as his hand lifted her skirts. "Oh, yes... Darling, I need you to touch me -"

"We will stay here, your skirts cover everything." Though Smith will be sure to know exactly what Tavington was doing. Any moment now... He was surprised the man had not attacked already.

Tavington's hand very deliberately lifted her skirts to her thighs, then very deliberately disappeared between them.

"No one is watching - open your legs," he was poised, tense, any moment now. "Wider Lyra."

Let Smith see, let him see it all. Let Smith see how wanton and debauched his stepdaughter became under the Butcher's expert caress's. She obeyed after darting one quick look around, she buried her face in his neck to hide the world from her view and opened her legs wider, knowing how lewd it would look to anyone who glanced their way.

A scream split the night, cutting across the clearing. Wilkins had begun his work on Sarah Martin.

"What?" Lyra jerked her head up. "Oh, William, what is happening? Why -"

"Hush, angel. I'm trying to pleasure you."

"But Mrs. Martin -" She cut off with a whimper as Sarah's second scream sounded through the camp. "William -"

Every thing seemed to happen at once. Screaming rebels came crashing through the trees, explosions sounded, bullets cutting swathes through the camp.

"Christ! Finally!" The Colonel snapped and dumped Lyra unceremoniously onto the ground and stuffed himself back into his breeches.

"William!" Lyra's scream of terror as a bullet wizzed past her ear. Then Michael and Arthur where there, along with the rest of her guard except for Bordon, and she was hauled to her feet and dragged away as Tavington slashed and parried, fighting with two rebels who had closed on him. They died quickly.

Tavington caught sight of Martin himself, just before the Ghost had a chance to close. The Butcher laughed with glee. The two men crashed together, bloodlust and hate twisting their features. Their swords rang with a loud ting ting ting as they crashed together, furious strokes with lightning speed. They traded feints and luck was on Martin's side - he drew the first blood. Tavington gritted his teeth as pain flared across his arm.

He sneered at Martin and surprised the other man with an onslaught, a series of sword thrusts, aiming to kill. Martin, hard pressed, still managed to turn most of the thrusts aside. He bellowed with pain as one deep cut seared along his thigh. With the quickness of a striking snake, Tavington viciously cut down on Martin's sword arm, slicing the Ghosts hand deeply. With another cry of pain Benjamin dropped his sword but with the experience of a well seasoned soldier he drew his tomahawk, used it to block as Tavington aimed a thrust for the Ghost's head.

The tableau held for timeless moments, the two men snarling at one another, close enough to feel their frenzied breaths hot on each others faces. Both strained against the other, their muscles taut, veins popping.

"Tell Mrs. Selton I send her regards," Tavington smiled then with unexpected swiftness and strength he pulled his sword free of the tomahawk and cut savagely for Benjamin's other thigh. The Ghost went down with a shout and Tavington raised his sword high for the killing stroke.

A woman's scream rent the air, loud even over the fight of battle around them. Tavington hesitated, his eyes darting toward the noise - it had come from the direction the Dragoons had taken Lyra. Martin used the distraction, raising his tomahawk high, cut it through the air toward Tavington's head. The Colonel snapped back to attention, turned the blow aside just in time.

"I'll be sure to," Martin taunted. He had seen Tavington's sudden distraction, judged his weakness swiftly. "And you be sure to send mine to Miss Mathan. I will treat with her one day, the same as you did Charlotte."

Tavington's quick in drawn hiss was all the confirmation Benjamin needed.

"Soon, Colonel. You may enjoy her for now. Bed her in for me." He smiled suggestively.

With a snarl, Tavington raised his sword again, too late. A mounted Gabriel was quickly crossing the distance toward his father, Benjamin had seen him coming. With a swift move, Martin grabbed his sons arm and jumped into the saddle behind him, they fled across the camp.

Suddenly a loud explosion sounded and Benjamin lurched forward in the saddle, hard against Gabriel.

"Father! Are you hit?"

"I am... Christ - just keep going, we need to get out of here."

"It was a blood bath, father! So many dead!" Gabriel shout over his shoulder as he continued through the woods. They rode for some time, avoiding the pursuit Tavington surely would have sent after them. Finally, Gabriel came to a stop not far from a cave known only by a handful of Patriots. He helped his father down from his mount, got him settled and comfortable, before fetching his small medical kit.

"Good Lord, he got stuck into you, didn't he?" Gabriel stared with shock at all the cuts - one on each thigh, one on his hand and of course a bullet which had lodged itself in the fleshy part of his father's back. Gabriel did what he could to stop the bleeding and bandage his father. "We need to get you to camp. That bullet will need to be dug out, those cuts need stitching."

"In a moment, son. In a moment. Let your old man rest a bit. Christ - he is good. Fucking bastard! I thought I had him!" Martin shook his head, sweat beaded his brow.

"It was a hot fight, for certain. The whole skirmish was - Lord. Do you know how many we lost?"

"No, I was too busy with the Butcher."

"Father, at least half of our men were cut down. As I said, it was a blood bath. The Dragoons cut in from out side the camp, they obviously knew we were there and they attacked when we advanced, cutting off retreat."

"I suspected they would, as soon as I realised. It was a trap, lad. They knew we were there from the moment we arrived. Half dead you say?" Benjamin wiped his sweaty forehead. "We had to save those girls, but... Christ - at what cost?"

"I know - I hate to say it. We got the girls to safety, though. Except for Lyra Mathan, I am not sure what happened to her - Smith went after her but she was surrounded by Dragoons."

"Lyra Mathan," Benjamin laughed bitterly. "Was not in need of rescuing. Emery had it right, son, she is bedding Tavington."

"No, it can't be - she wouldn't -"

"You did not see what I saw. Believe your old man, she is his lover."

"Very well. If Smith gets her free of the Dragoons, he will decide her fate." Gabriel sounded reluctant, he liked the lass. Hell, they all did - though most of the men Martin knew liked her a little too much. "Father, I have to tell you... I'm sorry, but Uncle Christopher... He fell in the first wave."

"Oh, Christ!" Benjamin grunted. "Agh!" He punched the wall of the cave - hard. His brother... Dead. They had always been close, this was a devastating blow for Martin.

"I'm sorry."

His father shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut with grief. Gabriel left his father alone in the cave, he tended his horse and watched for signs of danger until Martin finally came out of the cave, his face still stricken with grief.

"Lets go, son. We need to get the Hell out of here."

The men will need to lick their wounds, the ones that survived this disaster. Over half his men, lost in a rescue attempt. He was not looking forward to making his report to Burwell, knowing the General will be less than pleased. At least fifty men, to save six women...

Martin shook his head again as he mounted behind his son. A disaster. He had underestimated Tavington, a mistake he would not make again. The Ghost smiled. For the first time, Tavington had shown a weakness. He had been about to finish Martin off once and for all, and would have done if he had not been distracted by a woman's scream.

He had let Smith off the leash to do as he wished to several Loyalist families, however, Benjamin Martin himself had never had a taste for rape. If it would cause his enemy even the slightest distress, however...

And why not? Tavington had purposefully seduced Benjamin's fiancé. He really aught to return the favor in kind.

His mind drifted back to more than twenty years earlier when, at Fort Wilderness, a young and bloodthirsty Benjamin raped, murdered and pillaged, stalking through the dark and the wild for fresh victims amongst the savages. He had it in him, to do what needed to be done.

It suddenly became very important to Martin to get his hands on Miss Lyra Mathan. And if luck was on his side, Smith would be bringing the girl directly to him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	11. Chapter 11 - Lyra's Rage

**Chapter Eleven - Lyra's Rage**

"Fucking whore!" Smith cracked his fist into Lyra's jaw, pain flared and she dropped to the ground, dazed. He grabbed her by her hair, dragged her to her feet again. Lyra screamed as terrible, white hot agony seared her skull, she stumbled and he let go of her hair, gripping her arm instead. Great sobs rent her body as he dragged her out of the camp.

"You slut! Yanking on him for all the world to see! Letting him finger you! He's taken your virginity, hasn't he? You slut - you are meant to be mine!" He cracked her jaw again once more Lyra found herself on the ground again, weeping, her vision darkening. "Mine! Don't think this doesn't mean I won't still make you marry me, whore! I will, and you will bare me a son, and that fucking house will be mine!"

Smith was so filled with rage he did not see the shock on Reverend Oliver's face. "As soon as we get to camp, whore, Oliver will marry us and -"

"I most certainly will not!" The Reverend exclaimed primly. "You are her _stepfather_! I will not condone a union such as this!"

"You fucking will, if you know whats good for you!"

"Please Reverend!" Lyra cried, she reached for Oliver imploringly. No one else could help her - her guard had been hard pressed, only nine Dragoons against Smith's full band of thirty men. He had taken her easily and now she was alone with him, again, with only Oliver... Her Reverend... "Please help me! I was free of him, _free_! Please, he'll make me touch him, again! I can't stand it, can't stand his hands on me!"

Oliver's eyes widened with every word, almost popping from his head. He did not want to believe her, but Smith was not denying it. Far from it.

"Lying slut! You loved every second of it!" He pushed her to the ground and kicked her, his heavy boot crashed into her ribs and stomach, the air blew out of her lungs in a rush. "I should have fucked you two years ago instead of teaching you to yank on me! The only reason I didn't -" Another kick. "Was because I didn't want you bearing me a whelp too soon!" Another kick, Lyra lay on the ground, weak, listless, her fingers scrabbling at the dirt. Smith pulled his leg back to kick her again and Oliver grabbed the larger man, spun him around.

"You have been forcing yourself on her?" His face portrayed his horror. "She is your daughter!"

"_Step_daughter, Oliver, and she will be my wife soon!"

"This is your last chance to deny it, Smith!"

"What are you going to do about it?" Smith shoved the smaller man. "Throw your Bible at me? You pitiful wretch, you should not even be here, if you don't have the balls to do what needs to be done!"

"What needs to be done?!" The Reverend held his ground. "What has this to do with the Cause? What you are doing, what you have done, has nothing to do with this war! Forcing yourself on this poor child! No wonder she sought solace in the Butcher's embrace!"

"You shut your mouth now," Smith leaned in close, suddenly murderous. "You will not condone her actions!"

"I certainly will not condone yours! You will leave this child alone, now! Back down!" The Reverend was shaking with outrage.

He was not sure how he would protect the tortured girl, but he would not let Smith hurt her again without a fight - she was one of his flock! He glanced down at her, laying pitifully on the ground, weeping and clutching her side, dirt smeared her face and her damp hair. One of his own, all this time, he should have known. He moved to kneel beside her, ignoring Smith and his threat for the moment.

"Miss Mathan," he tried to wipe her hair from her face but she recoiled, her eyes large and haunted. "Why didn't you tell me? You could have come to me -"

"You would not have believed," she whispered. "And he would have beaten me for it."

His hand stilled on her hair, he knew she was right - he would not have believed. Smith was so well liked, had shown nothing but a gentle nature, until he began riding with the Ghost.

"Its true then?" He looked up at Smith. "You have been raping Loyalists - I thought it only rumours! The Mayfields -"

"Gave me more pleasure than I can say, Reverend," Smith leered. "Their moans, their screams - almost as charming as my Lyra's." Quick as a striking snake he snatched his hand forward and gripped Oliver's neck, squeezing tight. "You will marry us, understand? As soon as we are back in camp," he squeezed tighter and Oliver's face began to turn purple, his eyes popping, his lungs on fire - he needed air desperately.

"No, please, let him go. I'll marry you, I won't fight - let him go!" Lyra whimpered from the ground, begging, terrified she was about to see a man, her own Reverend, brutally murdered before her very eyes.

"Yes, Lyra. You will." Smith let Oliver go and shoved him away. The Reverend fell to the ground in a heap. Thomas turned his back on him, ignoring him completely as he reached for Lyra again. "Or it will be your throat that I squeeze. It will be _you_ that stops breathing. We will marry, Lyra, and I will beat you - every single day for the rest of your life. As your husband, it is my right, after all. Just as it was my right when I beat your mother, every single day. I will give you a small respite, of course, when you are carrying my child. Know this, however, if you birth a whelp nine months after marrying, I will drown it even if it might be mine. I will not raise that Butcher's bastard!"

He struck her again and Lyra cried out.

Reverend Oliver could take no more. He rose unsteadily, pulled his dagger. He would not stab the man in the back, however.

"Smith!" The deranged man turned and Oliver lurched forward, buried his dagger in the larger man's stomach. Too low, too far on the side. Smith went down, but the wound was not mortal. His face twisted with bloodlust and he stared up at Oliver with murder in his eyes.

The Reverend breathed heavily, with fear now, and as Smith began to rise, he quickly pulled his pistol. His hands were shaking as he loaded it and he cast quick glances at Smith all the while. Lyra was crying, pleading, begging Smith not to hurt Oliver.

A good girl, Oliver thought. Troubled, tortured and confused, but a good girl still, and she needed to be rescued, from Smith and Tavington both. Not enough time to load the pistol. Smith's dagger was in hand, he somehow managed to ignore the blade still sticking out from his side. He lurched forward and before Reverend Oliver could utter a sound another man was there.

A Redcoat, Colonel Tavington.

He whirled Smith around by the arm, his face twisted with bloodlust. Lyra gasped and dropped to her knees, retching as the two men began to fight. Oliver watched, it was over quickly. As good as Smith was, he was no match for Tavington. When it was done, and Smith lay prone in a puddle of his own blood, Oliver stepped forward to stand over Smith. Instead of the usual last rites, the Reverend uttered with disgust, "May God have mercy on your soul."

"Reverend!" Lyra's scream. He turned to the girl, still on the ground - her horrified expression was all the warning he needed. He twisted around to face Colonel Tavington, who had his sword raised, poised to strike Oliver down.

"No!" Lyra screamed again and lurched off the ground to push Tavington with all her might. "He protected me, nearly died because of me!"

"He is a rebel!" Tavington bellowed.

"He is my Reverend!" She pushed him again then turned to Oliver. "Run!"

"Where were you?" she shrieked, again facing Tavington, her damp hair flew around her as she raged. "You promised to protect me from him!"

Lyra, her face scarlet, raised her hand and slapped the Butcher's face as hard as she could swing her arm. "You promised I would not be hurt!" Her hand stung but she needed to hit him again. She raised her other hand and swung with all her might, slapping him harder than before.

Tavington, breathing heavily, said not a word. His cold, hard eyes stared at her, unblinking.

Both hands on fire now, she clenched a fist and punched his hard stomach with as much force as she could muster. He barely grunted. She shook her hand - her punch had hurt her more than him. And still she shrieked. "And you _used_ me! You knew he was watching from the woods, I know you did!" She reached up her hand and, ignoring the fiery pain, slapped his face once more. "You used me!"

Another shriek, wordless, a long keen of frustration, betrayal, heart ache, pain.

"Like a hot little whore!" She shoved, slapped him, punched him, he did not flicker an eye. "Just a hot little whore, used to draw him in, draw him to you and you didn't even _protect_ me from him!"

Oliver's mouth hung open, his jaw to the ground. He watched with shock, as the young girl - always so gentle and quiet, raged and screamed and pummeled the Butcher. Who did nothing. Did not even raise his hands to protect himself from her slaps though the Reverend knew they must have stung like fire.

The girl writhed before him, screaming her rage and Tavington - did - nothing.

Just watched her with his pale, cold gaze. Lips tight, breathing heavily through his nose, his body taut with pent up violence and still he did nothing. Finally Lyra's fight and her rage drained from her. Choking sobs took hold of her body and she began to sag to her knees, but the Colonel caught her, held her upright.

The two men locked eyes over Lyra's head.

"Run. Now. If I see you again, I will kill you. You have a reprieve, _Reverend_." Tavington's tone was chill as winter snow, his cheeks bright red from Lyra's slaps. Oliver could even make our her handprint.

"I am taking her with me," he said firmly.

"Then you will die _now_."

"Reverend, go, please go..." Lyra whispered. "This is the only chance he will give you - please, take it."

Oliver stared at her, he was about to refuse, he would not leave without her, when more Loyalists, Green Dragoons began to emerge from all around. They reminded him of lions, slowly advancing on their prey.

"I am sorry, Miss Mathan," Oliver murmured. To stay was to die, and he could not help her then. "Her stepfather beat her badly, you will need to check her ribs - they may be broken."

Tavington nodded curtly and the Reverend turned his back on them and faded into the night.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Breathing raggedly, Lyra twisted away from Tavington's grasp.

"Sir," Bordon's tone was hesitant. He had watched as Lyra raged, her face covered in very large, very angry dark bruises. He stood ready to intervene if the Colonel lost control of himself, but he had taken the beating rather stoically.

"Report," Tavington's voice was quiet, his eyes on Lyra as she stalked several steps away from him.

"Four of our men dead, Sir. Twelve wounded seriously - they are in need of medical attention."

"The rebels?"

"Have been bloodied, Sir - quite badly. Of the hundred that attacked, sixty-three died - their bodies are in need of disposal."

"See to it before we bed down for the night. Double the guards on sentry, a two hour rotation. We leave at first light."

"Yes, Sir. The Dragoons who had been waiting out beyond camp found where the rebels had concealed their horses, we have captured at least fifty of them."

"Excellent - the rebels always have such fine stock."

"Yes, most of these are American horses, the men did well to find them. Do you wish to chase the rebels that fled?"

"No, they will be scattered in every direction now. Besides, we know where they are hiding."

Lyra threw him a significant glance over her shoulder, her lips twisted in a sneer.

_Thanks to me..._ Tavington could read her mind clearly.

"The Ghost Sir?"

"I do not know - he got away and I shot him as he was fleeing, I do not know if it was a mortal wound."

"Tonight was still a huge success," Wilkins came forward. "Christopher Martin is dead, and Thomas Smith." He nudged at the man's body with the tip of his boot. "Deprived of two Captains, and with the loss of so many men... Martin is going to be hard pressed explaining this failure to Burwell."

"What are you doing?" Tavington frowned as Lyra began searching Smith's pockets.

She shot him a hard glance, but otherwise ignored him. With a gasp she pulled something out of her dead stepfather's pockets, held the treasure close to her heart and swallowed sudden tears. Very quickly, she wound it around her neck, Tavington saw it was a gold chain and a large, heavy locket. She continued her search.

"Miss Mathan's guard? What happened - they were supposed to be protecting her!" He could feel his rage building, the blood pounding in his ears. Broken ribs? Her face was marred with bruises where Smith had punched her. Did he punch her else where, as well?

She finished her search. Her hand bulging with more treasures, she began stalking again, restless, back and forth, though she moved stiffly now.

"Sir," Arthur Middleton came forward, Tavington saw right away he was nursing a wound in his thigh. "We were surrounded, that Smith fellow came straight for us. Only nine of us - but Smith had at least thirty. He ignored the rest of the skirmish - hell bent on capturing Miss Mathan to the exclusion of all else."

The young lad shot Lyra an apologetic glance.

"It was not _your_ fault," she sniffed disdainfully. It was clear from the chilly glance she shot at Tavington, exactly whose fault she thought it was. "If he had not seen me doing_ 'certain things'_, right there in the open, he would not have attacked with such single minded rage."

Tavington drew a deep, ragged breath and struggled to remain in control. Bordon was right, it seemed, Lyra was no fool. She was absolutely correct, and the Colonel knew it. It had been his design after all, though he had underestimated Smith - he had not guessed that the girl's Stepfather would forsake the rest of the fight in order to capture Lyra.

"Bordon," Tavington nodded curtly, "you have your orders."

"Yes, Sir."

The Colonel reached for Lyra, took her gently by the arm. Or tried to

"Don't touch me!" She hissed and jerked out of his grip, bristling like an angry cat.

"Lyra, we need to get your wounds seen to - that Reverend of yours was worried you might have broken ribs."

"Very well," she stalked past him and caught up to Bordon who slowed his gait to match hers, Lyra wound her arm through his for support. Tavington caught Wilkins eyes and his Colonial Captain wisely averted his gaze, turning to Middleton to check on the lads wounds.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

"No broken ribs, though I dare say you will not wish to wear these stays," Mr. Blair, an older Loyalist Dragoon who also served as a corpsman, held Lyra's stays up with one hand.

"I have to wear them, my dress won't sit well without it. It will look silly."

"I would prefer your dress look a little silly for a few days, than for you to wear this."

"How is she?" Tavington sat down beside her and she shuffled away, creating distance between them.

"As I was just telling young Miss Mathan, Sir, her ribs are not broken but her bruises are extensive."

"Extensive?" He turned back to Lyra. "Did he punch you?"

Silence. He rolled his eyes, it was to be the cold shoulder for him...

"Punch?" Blair shook his head. "No, Sir. He kicked her. Miss Mathan said she was kicked at least three times, and he pulled her hair - there is a small patch on her head where the hair was pulled out. He punched her face twice - though you know that already. Still, nothing internal is broken."

No? Tavington wondered as he stared at her, shock coursing through him - he had no idea the beating she had received at her Stepfather's hands had been so brutal. Nothing internal broken - what rot. Lyra stared down at her hands, her hair down her face veiling her from his view. Her hands shook and twitched in her lap and she sat huddled, bent over herself. Tavington judged she had been broken terribly.

"Thank you, Mr. Blair. I will take care of Miss Mathan from here."

"Yes, Sir." Blaire strode away, he did not hear Lyra's contemptuous snort.

"Lyra," Tavington reached forward, began to brush her hair aside.

"Don't touch me!" She shrieked and jumped off the log to stand over him, her green eyes striking.

"Very well." He made no further move toward her. He continued in an oddly formal tone. "It is time to bed down for the night, I will escort you to our bedroll."

"I will not sleep with you. Never again. I will seep with Bordon -"

Tavington reared up, finally pushed beyond his limit, jealousy and anger surging through him. "You will not sleep with another man!"

"That is not what I meant!" Far from being cowed into submission from his angry shout, Lyra folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot furiously. "I will sleep in your bedroll, Sir, but you will not be sharing it with me."

He raised a cool eyebrow. "And where am I expected to sleep?"

"I care not."

"Can we discuss this like reasonable adults?"

"No," she leaned close, her voice a spitting hiss, an angry cat, "your _hot little whore_ has _nothing_ to say to you."


	12. Chapter 12 - Lyra's Trap

**Chapter 12 - Lyra's Trap**

Dawn broke over them, the morning was cold and clear. Tavington lay gazing up at the ever brightening sky, his arms pillowed beneath his head. Lyra lay on her back snoring softly beside him, thanks to a herbal tincture Blair had given her to help her sleep through the pain of the bruises.

The snare Tavington had set to capture the rebels had been a rousing success, fifty horses of fine breed, captured. Two high ranking Captains, dead. Sixty-three rebels, dead. He had failed to capture or kill the Ghost, which was bothersome, but he had bloodied the man at the very least. The Colonel knew where the rebel's camp was concealed, it was only a matter of time now.

The night before, after the camp had been cleared of the dead rebels, and the dead bodies of the Dragoons had been tended to, the Green Dragoons had celebrated before seeking their blanket rolls and bedding down for the night.

And rightly so, after all this time, to bloody the rebel militia to such an extent was worthy of celebration. Tavington had found it difficult to celebrate, however.

Lyra...

Bruised, beaten, betrayed - as she saw it, in any case. Bordon had been right, curse him to all Hell's. His lover certainly had been less than pleased with him for using her as a lure. The girl had sought her blankets rather than stay up and celebrate with the Dragoons, and thanks to the herbal tincture she had been asleep by the time Tavington had joined her.

Her rage had been a sight to behold, the Colonel had not known she had it in her. Then again, he supposed, a person could only take so much. Lyra had been through Hell for the last few years, with no escape for her emotions she had to erupt eventually.

The Colonel tensed as she began to stir beside him, a small whimper escaping her lips - she would be waking to an exhausted, excruciating, pain filled body.

If her temper had not cooled, if he could not melt her...

His heart felt heavy, a sinking weight on his chest as he realised she may not wish to lay with him again.

_"Don't touch me!" _Her words still rang in his ears.

All over again, he watched as she raged, her beautiful face twisted with anger, her green eyes flashing disgust and he did not know what else. Hatred? He hoped not. Her slaps, punches, pushes. She had wanted to hurt him, in her fury had _needed_ him cause him pain. His cheek, where she had slapped him twice, had stung like fire for well into the night.

_"Hot little whore!"_ Tavington squeezed his eyes shut against a wince. _"You used me! You knew he was watching from the woods, I know you did!"_

_"You promised to protect me from him!" _And, perhaps worst of all for the Colonel, _"Where were you?"_

Fighting the Ghost...

He did not regret his actions, it was imperative that Martin be caught. Everything Tavington did, every single ruthless and bloody action was for the soul purpose of capturing, or killing, Benjamin Martin. If he had managed to catch him the evening before, Martin would have been hung, very publicly, striking a huge blow to the rebel militia.

Lyra's guard should have been enough to protect her, nine very well trained Dragoons. The tenth guard, Bordon, had been in the thick of fighting but Tavington knew even if his Captain had been with the other guards, the outcome would have been the same.

He had listened to a fuller version of events from the Middleton boys, both of which had been wounded in their duty to protect Lyra. No blame could be laid at their feet. After all, Lyra was still with them, injured, yes - but she was still under his care and her stepfather was dead. She was no longer under threat.

Benjamin Martin's words came to him. _"And you be sure to send mine to Miss Mathan. I will treat with her one day, the same as you did Charlotte. Soon, Colonel. You may enjoy her for now. Bed her in for me."_

Fuck. Tavington tightened his lips. She _is_ still in danger...

"Mmmm," Lyra groaned and sat up beside him, her body shaking.

_She is not a doxy, I should not have treated so..._ The betraying thought whirled through his mind, he took hold of it - squashed it ruthlessly, unwilling to feel guilt for his actions. _I will do what is necessary._

Still, he was fond of the girl and did not want to give her up until he was ready and right now her pains needed soothing.

Tavington sat up behind her and lifted her hair to kiss the nape of her neck gently, his fingers stroking her shoulders over her shift.

"Angel, are you all right?"

"Don't," she squirmed away from his touch.

His hands moved to her back, rubbing up and down gently. She turned to consider him coolly; her green eyes flashing, purplish bruises marred her jaw and Tavington stifled another wince.

"Ah, your temper has not cooled, I see."

She turned away from him wordlessly.

"Lyra, I needed to lure the rebels in, I dared not wait in case they had reinforcements on the way. If I had waited they would have cut us all down in our sleep."

"And so you used the only bait you had to hand - Mrs. Sarah Martin and me. Your hot little whore."

"Please don't say that," Tavington hated the pleading in his voice.

"Why not? You treated me like a whore, coaxing me into pleasuring you right there in the middle of camp, convincing me that no one was watching. And all the while you knew the rebels were, indeed, watching from the shadows. The beating Thomas gave me, Colonel Tavington, was made worse because of what he witnessed us doing."

"I know, angel," he tried for a strong tone, though there was still too much begging in it for his liking. He hated showing such weakness, hated feeling it! "It was necessary -"

"Angel?" Lyra jeered. "No, I've had enough. No more false endearments from you, you care nothing from me, I see that clearly now." She rose abruptly and began looking for her dresses and shoes.

"Lyra, that is not true."

"Say what you will, Sir. Your actions have spoken louder than your words ever could."

What to try... Begging? No, he would not lower himself.

Anger? No, she had known enough of that lately and if incited, he suspected her fury would outstrip his own. He pictured a screaming match between the two of them right there in the centre of camp - it was not to be borne.

Charm... Yes, charm has served him well with this one.

"Darling," he said gently, forcing his irritation aside, "come back to bed - let me show you how much I care for you."

"Ah," she laughed contemptuously, her dark bruises looked garish, hideous against her pale skin. "Here it is. You wish to _fuck_ me now?"

"Lyra, enough!" Despite his efforts to keep it at bay, his irritation began to grow.

"Well, of course you may. Have at me - we both know you want to." She eyed the bulge in his breeches as she kneeled down in front of him and began to lift her shift. He did not want to take her this way - the idea was to charm her, not have her give herself to him in a manner more suited to a common doxy.

Still, his breath caught as her thighs where revealed, her shift slowly rose higher and he began breathing raggedly to see her triangle of blonde curls, her closed legs concealed her womanly folds and her quim.

Sweet God in Heaven... His already aching cock throbbed with need. His fingers darted to the front of his breeches and he began jerking at the buttons, desperate to free himself.

"Lyra," his voice, thick with lust. "Let me see you, Angel, open your legs..."

"Of course, my lover," her voice thick with contempt, she parted her legs and Tavington reeled, he almost died then and there. Rising to his knees he jerked his breeches down, his heavy erection finally free.

"Sweet God in Heaven," he said the words aloud now. "Darling, please, I'm dying," he took hold of her hand and placed it on his length. She gave it a few long, languid strokes and Tavington gasped for air.

"But Colonel, wouldn't you like to see more?" Lyra asked, her voice dripping sweetness. He sensed her trap, she was leading him into an ambush but all he could do was swallow and nod. Lord - to finally see her breasts, to suckle her nipples... "Of course you would," her smile was cruel as she pulled her shift higher.

Her stomach and ribs where revealed. Large, glaring purple blotches ringed with yellow marred her skin - far darker than those along her jaw and cheeks. At least three rough circles, but there were many smaller grayish bruises also.

"Oh, Christ," unable to hide his wince now, Tavington collapsed back on his rump, his arousal fled.

"So, _my lover_," her voice thick with sarcasm, she jerked her shift back down around her. "Shall we begin?"

"Darling," he shook his head and stared at her. "How can you stand the pain?"

She had not known what reaction she would get from him, but she had _not_ expected such concern. Lyra covered her mouth with a shaking hand, trying choke back a sob. His arms began to encircle her, he tried to pull her close.

"No!" She gasped and shoved him away. "Not again! I will not let you fool me again!" She jerked to her feet, breathing heavily as she stood over him. "You promised to see me safely to Charles Town, and I will hold you to it - it is your fault I am stranded, after all. But I do not need your pity. I do not want your false concern. You care nothing for me, and I will not allow you to deceive me again."

Ignoring his protests, she whirled from him and went in search of Bordon.

:::

"Miss Mathan! You are not dressed!" Bordon spluttered and choked on his hot tea.

"I know - I needed to get away from him and... I'll go back in a moment and put my dresses on..."

"Did you quarrel?" The British Captain rose and draped his Redcoat over her legs in an attempt to cover them. "Miss Mathan, please could you tie your shift?" His voice was strangled and he tried to avert his gaze.

_I'm a married man, I'm a married man... _Bordon closed his eyes and willed his erection to ease. It did not work - he had been hard and aching for days now, it had been a long while since he had seen his lovely wife.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't even notice..." Lyra tied the drawstring, the tops of her breasts were no longer visible and Bordon sighed with relief. "Yes, we quarreled. Well, I quarreled, anyway. I want no more of him, Captain. No more sweet words, no more coaxing, no more telling me I'm a beautiful angel. I hate being beautiful, its only ever bought me pain and strife. And now its bought me _him_ with his false affection - I am so stupid, falling for it so quickly. Falling for _him_ so quickly, it's only been two days..." She trailed off and sighed deeply. "Can I have a cup of tea, do you have some spare?"

"Of course, where are my manners," Bordon busied himself preparing her a drink.

"What a fool I am. He said he'd protect me and I thought he meant it. He said so many things, and I realise now it was all lies. He only wished to bed me. And I allowed it to happen and why? Because I am stupid."

"You are not stupid, Miss Mathan," he handed her the cup of tea.

"Oh? To bed a man - to bed _him_, the Butcher? To give myself so quickly? He didn't even have to court me!" Her voice became a whisper. "And I began to care for him and I stupidly thought he returned the sentiment, but clearly he does not."

"Can I ask you something, Miss Mathan?" he waited for her nod. "Why did you bed him? Or did he give you no choice?"

"No, he gave me a choice. I don't know why, really. I think..." She frowned, searching for the right words. "Thomas wanted me to marry him, he kept saying he wanted me to bear him a son, and would talk of 'finally' taking my virginity. I think, perhaps, I gave myself so readily to take something from Thomas... I don't know, that sounds stupid."

"No, it makes sense," his voice was gentle.

The two where quiet for a while, Bordon glanced around the camp at the rousing soldiers.

"We'll be heading out soon," he said. "We have to get the wounded somewhere they can be cared for properly, somewhere they can rest safely. That includes you, Missy," he pointed at her with his cup. "You need rest, and lots of it. Blaire told me of your bruises."

"They hurt..." Lyra winced and tried to hold herself still. "No matter how I sit or lay - though it is not so bad if I'm on my back. Lord, riding behind you today is going to be Hell..."

"You'll be riding with me, Miss Mathan," a cool voice intruded.

Tavington stepped over the log Lyra was sitting on, and lowered himself beside her. To seek out Captain Bordon! After telling Tavington the night before that she wished to sleep with the Captain, and not with him! It was not to be borne.

"I most certainly will not!" She flared up instantly.

"Get dressed," he threw her clothes and shoes at her feet. "I've packed away our belongings, this must have came off during the night," he handed her the gold chain with the heavy locket. "The clasp was bent, I've straightened it for you, it will not come off now."

She gasped and snatched it from his fingers.

"A thank you would be nice," he snapped.

"Colonel..." Bordon rolled his eyes.

"At first light, I said," Tavington rounded on his Captain. "Tell the men they have twenty minutes, I wish to be on our way."

"Yes, Sir." Bordon tipped his tea out onto the ground and left them to give the order.

"Really. Bordon?" The Colonel rounded on Lyra. "He is who you come running to?"

"I've ridden on the back of his horse for two days now, and I have nobody else. No one!"

"No one?" He leaned in dangerously, his cold eyes searching hers. "You think you have no one?"

She held his gaze steadily. "I _know_ I have no one. I am completely alone."

"Very well, if that is what you chose to believe," his lips tightened and he rose abruptly. "Get dressed."

Lyra tried to hide her winces of pain as she dressed herself. He had not bought her stays to her, Blair had already told her she was not to wear them for a few days and she sighed when she laced her bodice, it felt too strange to her, to not be held in and shaped. Still, she had a fine, slim build, the dresses did not look as silly as she had thought they would. Finally she pulled on her shoes, tied her hair back in a clumsy braid.

"My cap?" Her voice was terse as she addressed him. He pointed wordlessly, and she turned to pick it up from the ground where it had landed. Shaking it off, she put it on, then turned to him with her arms folded. "Well?"

"This way."

They were soon mounted, Lyra tried to maintain distance between them, she hooked her thumbs through his belt instead of wrapping her arms around his waist. She tried to avoid all contact, difficult to do on the back of a galloping horse - their legs touched constantly and there was nothing she could do about that.

Eventually she became too tired, and was far too sore, to continue her little protest. About an hour into their journey she collapsed against his back and when he reached around behind him, searching for one hand, then the other, she allowed him to pull her arms around his waist.

Some of his tension eased, to finally be granted contact with her again.

:::::::::::::

"There there, just a little further," his voice was soothing, and he patted her hand gently. Lyra barely responded, tired and in pain, she just wanted the horrible ride to end.

Tavington held his arm up high, gesturing to his Dragoons. The column travelled at a slow pace for the comfort of the wounded Green Dragoons, some on litters, some still riding. At the Colonel's signal, the company turned into the wide lane leading toward a large manor house.

The Collins family.

Tavington had enjoyed a brief stay at the manor before, several months ago now. Mr. Bradley Collins, his pretty wife Katie, their three children and Tristan Collins, the younger brother who continued to reside at the manor with thanks to his brother's generosity.

The Colonel, Captain Bordon and Captain Wilkins rode to the front of the manor. The column rode on a bit further before halting, Officers dismounting and tending to the wounded, others milling and chatting quietly while their Colonel greeted the family and made the necessary arrangements for their stay at the plantation.

Bordon helped Lyra to dismount, and Tavington climbed down. He took her by the arm to steady her and the four of them approached the family waiting at the front of the broad steps before the manor.

"Colonel Tavington!" Mr. Collins said, stepping forward, his face full of concern. His eyes landed on Lyra and opened wide to see the strange young girl covered in bruises. "It has been a while since we saw you last, you look a little worse for wear this time. Have you had a skirmish with the Ghost?"

"Indeed we have. I have several wounded who need to be cared for and some fallen Dragoons who will need to be buried."

"Very well, my home is yours. I will send for Doctor Johnson to tend the men, and help with the... Other arrangements." He wrinkled his nose, the idea of burying soldiers was not an appealing one. He cast another speculative glance at Lyra, who pressed herself closer to Tavington and lowered her eyes. "And yourself, Colonel, are you wounded?"

"I am not wounded, though your concern is appreciated. This young woman is in my care, she is a Loyalist who has found herself stranded here on the Santee. Unfortunately she was wounded in yesterday's skirmish and her wounds are taking their toll on her."

"We will have a room made up for her immediately," Mr. Collins announced. Tavington nodded, the other man had understood the Colonel's meaning - Lyra was to be shown all possible care and consideration.

In short order the wounded Dragoons were settled on small cots in the improvised sick room - the ballroom situated alongside the manor. The remainder of the Dragoons set up camp, though the higher ranking Officers would be residing in the manor itself.

Tavington led Lyra into the parlor.

"Please be seated," Mrs. Collins waved her arm toward the chairs, her eyes caught Tavington's and she quickly averted her gaze as her husband strode toward the bureau and begun pouring measures of whiskey into small goblets.

"Sit here, Lyra," the Colonel murmured in the girls ear, he sat beside her on a small, plush chaise. "Are you in pain?"

"It is bearable," she shrugged weakly.

"I distinctly remember telling you not to lie to me," he arched an eyebrow and smiled, hoping she had finally warmed to him. In too much pain to respond further than another weak shrug she drooped back against the chaise and struggled to keep her eyes open.

And then Mr. Collins, eyeing her with curiosity, handed her a goblet of whiskey. "Oh, thank you, Sir."

Mr. Collins continued on, offering whiskey to the others. Lyra sniffed at hers curiously.

"I have never had whiskey before," she murmured under her breath, her words where not intended to be heard.

"Hmm, tonight should be interesting then," his smile became very warm indeed.

She shot him a hard glance and his smile faltered.

Good, he was far to sure of himself, this Colonel. She was too exhausted to maintain her anger, though it did not mean she would take him to her bed again. She was not sure herself, if she would or not.


	13. Chapter 13 - Tristan Collins

_A/N - remember, in this version (the final version, by the way) The Collins family are not related to Lyra._

_:-)_

_Have a safe and Merry Christmas!_

**Chapter 13 - Tristan Collins**

"Colonel Tavington," Mrs. Katie Collins seated herself across from him, her eyes holding a chilly glint. "You have not introduced us to you companion, the young Loyalist who found herself stranded on the Santee." She arched an eyebrow and the gaze she turned on Lyra was not friendly.

The girl shuffled away from Tavington and leaned into the chaise, trying to create distance between them and make herself small. The Colonel hid a scowl, keeping his face smooth, he made the introductions.

"Mrs. Collins, may I present Miss Lyra Mathan."

"Miss Lyra Mathan!" Surprisingly, it was the young man, Tristan Collins, who spoke up with eagerness. "Good Lord, it _is_ you!"

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Her voice was shaky, though she leaned forward again to study the young man.

"You could say that," he laughed.

"Collins... Oh - _Collins_!" Struck with realisation and recognition, Lyra gasped with excitement. "Tristan!"

The Colonel gazed back and forth between the two, this time he was unable to hide his scowl as the childhood companions reunited. Tristan rose from his chair to bow over Lyra's hand, planting a gentle kiss above her fingers. Tavington ground his jaw with displeasure. The boy resumed his seat, but his eyes lingered on Lyra, his smile far to warm for the Colonel's liking.

"My word, you have grown, Lyra," Mr. Bradley Collins took a seat beside his brother. "I would never have known it was you."

"I knew," Tristan announced. "I wasn't sure at first, but... Your eyes - they have not changed, I would know you no matter how many years passed!"

She laughed then winced and clutched at her side. "I am sorry, Tristan - I would never have recognized you in a hundred years. Lord - how long has it been?"

"Eight years and three months, I believe!" Then he blushed. "Though I can't be sure..."

"I am pleased you are already acquainted with one another," Tavington's voice was cold and hard - not pleased at all. He had dismissed the youth the first time the Dragoons had come to the manor, but now his eyes took him in from head to toe. Handsome, dark hair and brown eyes, straight nose. Well built - thick arms, the boy was no stranger to hard work. And the way he gazed at Lyra... The young man would bear keeping a close eye on.

"Yes, we used to play together as children," Lyra explained. "Tristan lived in the manor not far from mine - only a few doors down, wasn't it?" She asked and Tristan nodded.

"Manor?" Tavington said coolly. "I thought you said 'house'."

He had pictured some ramshackle place on the outskirts of Charles Town, considering the house she had lived in with her Stepfather.

"Oh, no, it's a manor, two doors down from ours - on Tradd St," Mr. Collins confirmed.

Lyra sensed Tavington's tension and chose to ignore it. "Tristan, do you remember we used to steal away and race to the Square and hide while our parents searched for us?"

"Naughty of us, to be sure. But we had ever so much fun when they stopped looking for us. Do you remember that time on the wharves? You almost fell in to the water when you tripped on the rope -"

"Leaving curled rope laying about like that, what were they thinking?" Even after all these years, it still annoyed her, they had not been the only children running on the wharves.

"And I saved you."

"The gallant knight. My mother gave you a cherry tart, if I remember."

"Yes, right after father smacked my backside for taking you down there in the first place."

Lyra laughed, a bright, musical laugh, warm and rich.

Tavington grew more frigid by the moment, as the two of them chuckled and reminisced. She seemed to have forgotten her pain and was showing a side he had never seen before - happy, friendly, relaxed. Of course he had only known her a few scant days and it had been very stressful for her. Still, she had not smiled this brightly and spoken with such excitement with _him_.

"Eight years..." Mrs. Collins seemed a little warmer now, Tavington noted with annoyance. "Has it really been so long since your father passed? We were sorry to hear of your mother, catching ill. It must have been very traumatic for you."

"Yes, it was terrible," Lyra murmured.

"How did you find yourself stranded, where is your stepfather? Thomas..."

"Smith," Lyra finished. "He..." She shot an uncertain glance at Tavington. "Well, he joined the rebels, you see. I left the farm with some friends recently, in an attempt to get to Charles Town, only we got separated and Colonel Tavington..." She frowned and trailed off, uncertain how much she should reveal.

"Came across Miss Mathan at a farm where she had spent the night," Tavington took up the explanation. "She told me her story and I have vowed to see her safely to Charles Town."

_Your gallant knight_, he bit back the words before he could say them aloud. _I am your protector now. This young whelp could not have saved you from Smith. Nor will he be able to keep you safe from the Ghost if he makes good on his threat._

"Yes, very generous that," Lyra pitched her voice low for Tavington's ears alone. "You are righting a wrong, if you recall."

Tavington tightened his lips and drank back a sip of whiskey.

"Ah, you have turned eighteen then, I take it? Time to claim your inheritance." Mr. Collins said knowingly.

"Yes, Sir. I am surprised you know of it."

"I know as much as Tristan, my dear. I remember you well, the two of you always getting into trouble. I believe our mother's hoped the two of you would marry some day."

The two youths blushed.

"They did not mention anything like that to us..." Lyra murmured.

"Of course they didn't," Collins laughed. "You were no older than ten, when you left Charles Town. Too young to discuss marriage plans with. Besides, your father's passing changed many things."

"It certainly did," she sighed and took a sip of her brandy, then spluttered at the sharp, fiery taste.

"I've not been in Town for a while, Lyra -"

Tavington bristled - the boy felt free to be so familiar with her! Marriage, hmm? He was beginning to regret coming to the Collins more and more by the moment.

"- but I believe someone is taking care of the property for you. The last time I went by it was very orderly, just how it looked when we were little."

"Truly!" Her tone was excited again. "Oh, I can't wait to see it, to walk its halls again, no matter how briefly."

"Briefly? Why - are you going somewhere else?" Tristan asked, alarmed. "I thought you would want to live there again."

"I do, but I won't be able to afford it. My inheritance is... well... small and I doubt it will be enough to afford its upkeep."

"How is it that the property will revert to you, Miss Mathan?" Bordon asked. "Being a woman, I would not have thought you would be allowed to own it."

"I do not know," her shrug showed her ignorance.

Wilkins provided the answer, "I remember now - Mr. Mathan put the property in trust, it will revert to Miss Mathan's sons when she has them."

"Oh, truly? I thought the property was my mother's! She always told me it was mine and I assumed it would come from her."

"No, it was your father's. When your grandfather passed away, your father grew ill and he sought advice from his lawyer, who found a way to keep the property for you. If I recall correctly, when he placed the property in Trust a large sum of money was put toward the Trust to continue its upkeep. I believe you will be able to reside there for quite a few years, perhaps indefinitely."

"Good Lord," her eyes where wide, clearly stunned. Then she blurted, "That is why Smith could not get his hands on it!"

"Quite. Your father wanted to be sure you would be protected, and that the property would remain in his direct line - not handed off to whomever your mother chose to wed once he was gone."

"I wonder if that was why Thomas was so angry - I remember them arguing shortly after they wed. God, it is all so clear now!"

"What is clear?" Tristan leaned back in his chair, obviously relieved that Lyra was to live in Charles Town after all.

She glanced at him with surprise, she had not meant to say that last out loud. "Oh, just... As I said, they fought and shortly later we moved to his house on the Santee. I think he thought they could reside in the manor..." Her eyes caught Tavington's and he nodded his understanding.

Smith's ulterior motive for marrying Lyra. He always spoke of her bearing him a son. For, according to the law, everything his _son_ owned, _Smith_ would own. The manor would have been his, finally.

"Captain," Lyra turned to Wilkins. "How do you know all this? Why didn't you tell me earlier, I've traveling with you for two days!"

"As I said, it only just came to me. As for how I know, your father used the same lawyer as I. I did not know him well, but I do remember when he placed the property in Trust - it was not unheard of to protect properties in such a way, but not so common that it did not occasion comment and gossip."

"I suggest, Miss Mathan," Mrs. Collins tone was amused, and she shot a taunting glance at Tavington as she leaned back in her chair, tapping one foot idly. "That you get to Charles Town and find yourself a husband as soon as ever you can. Start having babies and a lot of them. It is the only way to truly secure the manor and your future."

The Colonel stiffened again, more so when Lyra nodded agreement.

"Boys..." She said thoughtfully. "I need to marry and have boys. It was Mrs. Bryant's intention when she came to fetch me to Charles Town. I am beginning to wonder if she had a man in mind for me, from some of the things she said. It is wise council, and I thank you, Mrs. Collins."

Tristan shifted in his seat, his gaze locked on Lyra and Tavington growled under his breath.

Bordon whispered in an undertone, low enough for the Colonel's ears alone. "There is nothing like a bit of competition to make the heart grow fonder," he chuckled and Tavington's lips tightened again. They had known one another a long time, four years now. Still, if Bordon thought he could taunt him over his jealousy, he could think again.

_Lord, these jealous fits!_ He raged. _I barely know this girl..._

Lyra smiled, oblivious to Tavington's growing tension.

"Lyra, you should be in Charles Town in time to attend the Covington Ball," Tristan said with excitement. "There will be plenty of familiar faces for you - do you remember Emma Daniels? And her sisters. We often spoke of you after you left, I wager they will be excited to see you again."

"I do remember them," Lyra smiled warmly. "I often thought of them also."

"Will you dance with me, at the ball?"

"Oh... I don't know, Tristan. I don't have a gown..." Then she laughed. "I don't even have an _invitation_!"

"You will have, as soon as you take up residence in your manor, the Simms will know it and they will invite you. You must go, you simply must!"

Lyra hesitated, suddenly at a loss for what to say and Tavington found himself pushed to his limit.

"Give her room to breathe, boy," his face was hard, his tone crisp and cold. Lyra shifted uncomfortably beside him, her face flushed. He had embarrassed her. The boy recoiled, clearly fearful of the imposing Colonel. Easing his expression, he continued mildly, "Mr. Collins, Miss Mathan has been through a disastrous few days. I think discussions of balls and dance partners can wait."

"Yes, Sir, of course. I am sorry, Miss Mathan - I did not mean to push you."

"You didn't push me, _Tristan_," Lyra said his name with emphasis and shot a cool glance at Tavington. "I have a few misgivings, that is all. As I said, I do not have a dress - the cart holding my belongings has been lost to me -" another pointed look for the Colonel, her anger rising by the moment. "And even if I did have all of my belongings, I could not have a proper ball gown made in time - if I could even afford one."

"We will be here for some few days, Miss Mathan," Tavington found himself saying. He rolled his eyes, surprising himself with his own folly. Still, he would be attending the dance also, and to see Lyra in a silk gown, dressed to attend a ball, to lead her through a dance or two... The very idea took his breath away. "I am certain we could prevail upon Mrs. Collins to send for a seamstress. A gown could be made before we are ready to leave for Charles Town, if we move quickly."

"Colonel," Lyra leaned in close and whispered harshly. "Stop this, you are embarrassing me - I can't afford to have a ball gown made, just leave it alone."

"I will not leave it alone. You need not concern yourself with the cost of the gown, I will take care of everything," her eyes glittered and she opened her mouth to argue but he turned toward Mrs. Collins before Lyra could voice her protest. "A seamstress?" He arched an eyebrow, "and a bath for now, Miss Mathan has many bruises, suffered in the skirmish yesterday. A long soak in a hot bath should be just the thing to sooth her aches."

Mrs. Collins stiffened, her eyes glittered. "Of course," her voice sounded forced. "I will see to both, right away."

"Thank you," Tavington dismissed the woman and turned to Mr. Collins, "is the doctor far away? I want my men seen to sooner, rather than later."

He was vaguely aware of Mrs. Collins sharp, cold glare as she walked from the room to do his bidding.

"No, Sir, only the next plantation over. I am certain he will be here shortly."

"Lyra?" Tristan ventured, his voice held concern for his friend, but he shot an apprehensive glance at Tavington. "Where you hurt so terribly? The bruises on your jaw... What happened?"

"I was hurt, but Tristan - I would rather not speak of it, if you don't mind. It was horrid... The battle and... It was horrid," she repeated quietly.

"Very well," he said dubiously. Though he ached with curiosity, he would respect her need for privacy.

The small group spoke quietly until a servant, an African, came in quietly to whisper in Mr. Collins ear.

"Ah, the doctor has arrived, Colonel, and Miss Mathan's bath is ready. No need to worry, Miss, my wife is organizing some dresses for you, you will be able to change into fresh clothes after your bath."

"Oh, thank you - you are very generous."

"Not at all, we are old friends, remember?" His smiled warmly.

Shortly later, Lyra was led away to her bath and Tavington was introduced to Doctor Johnson as he inspected the wounded Dragoons. He pushed thoughts of Lyra naked in her bath aside and set his mind to the matter at hand.

His men where made as comfortable as possible considering their injuries. Several fires burned brightly in the large fireplaces, warming the ballroom.

"Colonel Tavington," Doctor Johnson greeted him. "Your men will be fine, no mortal wounds. They will need a few days rest before they are fit for travel, I will come back tomorrow to see to them, and let you know my opinion of their wounds."

He nodded and thanked the man. Bordon, Wilkins and Tavington spent some time chatting with the Dragoons instead of returning to the parlor. His mood was dark and he eventually fell silent, leaving Bordon and Wilkins to lift the men's spirits.

"Wilkins, I am going back to the manor. Will you see to the men's needs?"

"Of course."

Bordon accompanied Tavington out of the sick room.

"I wonder where they took Lyra for her bath," he said quietly. "You may wish to join her."

"Stephen," his voice held a warning note. Bordon was undaunted however, one of the few who had some small leeway with Tavington.

"I am surprised, I confess it. You have become quite attached to the young girl, in such a short time."

Tavington ignored him and continued walking toward the manor.

"Though she is beautiful, I can certainly see why you would form an attachment." Bordon continued. The Colonel held his silence. "Mr. Tristan Collins obviously holds affection for her."

"He is just a boy," Tavington snorted.

"A very old friend... I would not discount him so lightly, if I were you."

"Why should you imagine I care?"

"Please, William," Bordon laughed. "I have known you a very long time. You _pretend_ jealousy while bedding a woman, if you wish to please her. Then you discard her when you are done. Today's display, however - there was no pretense in your envy this time."

"You are imagining things, Stephen. I own to feeling a certain responsibility toward the girl for having taken her hostage, causing her to be stranded in the first place. We have been through much over the last few days and will admit I have grown fond of her. I will see her to Charles Town as I promised, and will continue to bed her until we get there."

_If she will still have me. _

"And then?"

"And then I will move on, as I always have. You know fully well that I am engaged to marry Miss Price on my return to England, Stephen."

"Good, for Mrs. Collins was quite correct - Miss Mathan will need to find herself a husband as soon as she arrives in Charles Town. And not only to secure this manor - but in case she is carrying your child. I believe that Tristan Collins has set his sights on her for a wife."

_That whelp, raising my child? That whelp, married to Lyra... _Tavington was momentarily overcome with roaring jealousy. He carefully unclenched his tight grip from the hilt of his sword. Bordon noticed, of course, though wisely remained silent.

"She is just a diversion, nothing more," the Colonel grated harshly.

"Good," Bordon's tone was flippant. "Then you will not mind if I dance with her at the ball."

Tavington stifled a vexed groan.


	14. Chapter 14 - Tavington's Pretty Doll

**Chapter Nine - Tavington's Pretty Little Doll**

"Colonel?" Came a woman's voice behind him. He turned and bit back a groan, Mrs. Collins had been waiting for him, it seemed.

"Have you done as I asked, Mrs. Collins?"

"Oh, the seamstress? Yes, she will be here later today. I have a booklet from London - it has very detailed drawings of the latest fashions, perhaps you would like to have a look?"

"What in Hades for?" He snapped, running out of patience.

"Why, so you can choose which gown you would like your little mistress to wear, of course. You can even choose the colors for her, pick out some ribbons, dress her like the pretty little doll she is."

"I think we are done here," he said firmly and turned from her. Mrs. Collins grabbed his arm to stop him.

"William," there were tears in the woman's eyes. "This is pure Hell! When I heard the thunder of horses I ran to the window and when I saw it was the Green Dragoons I almost fainted! It has been so long since I have seen you, I was filled to bursting with excitement. But you bring her here, your mistress, - to my home! And then you demand I run her a bath and order her a seamstress? Lord, the insult!"

"You have servants to do both those things, Katie. You hardly had to do either yourself."

"That is beside the point. You have me running errands for your latest lover!" Her hand was still on his arm and she began to caress her fingers lightly over his sleeve. "Darling, don't you remember how wonderful it was between us? She is a child. I am, however," Katie moved closer and gazed into his eyes. "A woman grown. I can please you -"

"And who taught you to do the things that would please me, hmm?" He laughed down at her. "When you first came to my bed, you were as witless as a virgin! You, a married woman! I had to lead you by the hand, teach you everything! At least Lyra's ignorance is justified, having never known a man before."

"Lyra," she spat. "So familiar! I will not have it, William. I can not send her away, I have no choice but to allow her to stay. But you will not bed her under my roof. If you do, I will expose your affair -"

She gave a loud squark as Tavington, face set in a hard scowl, seized her arms and yanked her toward a nearby room. He slammed the door shut behind them. His face raged over hers, and she quailed in his grip.

"You will not utter a single word about my dalliance with Lyra, Katie. If you do, I assure you, your husband will learn exactly where you learned all your new... techniques... from. Is he benefitting from my teaching, hmm? Is he enjoying your mouth sucking him?"

"Please, William, I am sorry - let me go," Katie sobbed.

He tightened his grip and she whimpered. "You will cease encouraging her to find a husband, also."

"Why?" She gasped, her tone became pleading, mournful. "Please, tell me you do not wish to marry her! She barely has two thousand pounds coming to her! So what if she has a manor, its not hers and she has no money! Please, oh please my darling - tell me you are not in love with her!"

_Lord, am I?_ Tavington's eyes widened with shock. _No, I have only known her a few days. I simply do not wish to lose her before I am done. I am not in love with her. By Christ, I am not._

He felt an almost desperate need to prove it to himself. Katie was sobbing, he loosened his hold on he arms and crashed his lips to hers. She moaned and gripped his neck, moulding herself to his body. There was nothing gentle about the kiss - it was harsh, frantic. He shoved her against the wall and gripped her jaw with one hand, teasing her mouth open with his finger.

Katie whimpered as his tongue assaulted hers, circling and clashing, both groaning with need.

Tavington drew back, his expression sharp and frightful. "Turn around Katie, I am going to fuck you. Now."

"Oh, God," she mewled, and whirled around, lifting her skirts high eagerly. He jerked at his belt buckle, ripped at the buttons and pulled his breeches down low enough to free his aching erection.

"Brace yourself against the wall," his only warning that he would be taking her hard. She whimpered again and placed her hands on the wall, she straightened her arms and locked her elbows - ready to take the battering he had promised her.  
She was not disappointed. Tavington felt between her legs for her moisture, and pried her lips apart. He bent his knees and leaned forward, taking his erection in his hand he positioned himself at her entrance.

"You are wet, Katie..." he taunted. "Been thinking about me, have you?"

"Oh, yes..." She breathed.

"Been imagining me fucking you?"

"Oh, God... Please..."

With a low snarl, he snapped his hips forward, his member barging into her, and a thrill shot through his body.

"Agh," he groaned, holding still momentarily. When he was ready, he placed his hands on either side of hers on the wall, gaining leverage and bracing himself. "Are you ready, Katie?"

"Yes, oh, yes!"

His smile was savage as he drew his hips back, his length almost dropping out of her. Then with bestial abandon, he crashed forward, pulled back, crashed forward, a frenzied but fluid motion, as he bucked in and out of her. She slammed forward, but immediately began to groan and push back with each thrust.

More thrills shot through his body, gaining intensity until it was one, long, fiery pulse of sensation, burning through his veins. He groaned out loud, his pelvis snapping back and forth, his legs pushing hers father apart, his body pushing her closer to the wall.

She moaned and whimpered, her fingers scrabbling for purchase against the wall. Needing intimacy, she moved her hands over his, wound her fingers through his against the wall. He continued bucking violently with out missing a beat. Her pleasure was pulsing through her, he was pounding her so very hard.

"Agh! Agh! Agh!" He grunted in her ear, and bent his head to the back of her neck, biting firmly. She cried out, though he did not break the skin, it was painful. He barely noticed.

_Lyra_...

He bucked forward.

_In the bath..._

Another thrust.

_Right now..._

He continued his assault, thoughts of Lyra searing his mind as his pleasure, rising steadily, seared his body.

_Fuck, I have not seen her naked yet._

A hint, nothing more, as she raised her shift up to show him her bruises. He caught a glimpse of her golden triangle above her thighs. She parted her legs on his command, showing him the beautiful sight of her -

"Aggghhhh!" Great spurts of seed shot up his length into Katie as his climax roared through his body. He held himself still, deep inside her as his cock twitched and pulsed.

"Emmnnnn," an inarticulate groan of satiation. Lowering his head to her back, he breathed heavily, trying to calm from the violence of his coupling. Eventually, thought returned, and with it, fury.

Katie noticed nothing, if she had turned to him, she would have quailed at his cold, hard expression. She began to pull forward from him, her body languid now, she sighed with contentment. Her sigh became a gasp of fright as Tavington untwined his hand from hers and punched the wall. She quickly snatched her hand away.

"Fuck!" He snarled, and punched the wall with the heel of his hand again. "Fuck!"  
He jerked back from the wall and hauled his breeches up.

"Darling?" Katie ventured as she turned to face him nervously. "Is everything alright?"

His lips tightened, he ignored her, turning his glittering glaze to his buttons and belt buckle. She raised her hand and made to caress his face, but froze when he lifted his head, his expression savage, blood thirsty.

"Was I not... Good?" She asked quietly, her voice quavered. "I can do better, I will do better - next time. I remember everything you taught me, I know how to take care of you."

"You were perfect," he snapped, his voice abrasive as he turned to stride from the room. "Just fucking perfect."

_Fuck. I am in love with her. A Colonial. Raised on a backwater farm! With barely two thousand pounds to her name. Fuck!_

He slammed the door behind him, and stormed down the hallway in search of Bordon.

"What is she accomplished at?" He raged as he paced. "Nothing. She was raised on a farm, for Christ's sake! Her stepfather forced her to pleasure him! She has two thousand pounds! How can I be in love with her, I barely know her!"

"Well, I only knew Margaret a short while before we wed - we fell in love quickly."

"Is your wife a Colonial?" Tavington spat. "A savage? No. And she came with a considerable dowry, too. She is accomplished - I have never known a woman who can play the pianoforte as your wife can. She is intelligent -"

"As is Miss Mathan - though she was too frightened at first to show it. I like her."

"Do you now." He shook his head and sighed heavily through his nose. "This is madness. We are in the middle of a war, I can not fall in love now. I have Miss Price waiting for me -"

"And her twenty thousand..." Bordon mused.

"Yes, that too." Tavington took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

"I do not know why you are so angry over this William. She is a good girl - beautiful, intelligent. You do not need her to have a dowry, you have your inheritance and a decent pay. You could take a Colonial back to your mother -"

The Colonel barked a laugh. "Of course I can," his tone dripped sarcasm.

"She would be a novelty amongst our peers, the talk of the town."

"Enough, Stephen," he barked. "I will deal with this as I had intended - I will continue to bed her, then when we move out of South Carolina for North Carolina, I will discard her."

"When we make a move for North Carolina? I thought you were going to discard her when we reached Charles Town?" Bordon raised an eyebrow and Tavington scowled. "William, do not play with her. You will get her with child, she will be ruined for anyone else. She has her future to consider. If you do love her, do the right thing."

"Which is what?" Tavington spun to Bordon, assuming a confronting stance. "Leave her to that whelp?"

"If you must. Come, they are about to serve afternoon tea and I am hungry for more than your conversation." The Captain strode passed his superior and headed for the dining hall.

After asking amongst the servants, Tavington quickly learned which room was Lyra's. She had gone to lay down after her bath, but that was several hours ago now, and the Colonel wished to speak with her in private before they retired for dinner. Before Tristan bloody Collins took her attention all over again.

With a quick glance to be sure no one saw him, Tavington slipped into Lyra's room.

"Ah, I thought you were sleeping," he said as he closed the door quietly behind him.

"I was, I woke a little while ago," she reclined against the pillows in her borrowed dresses.

"How are you feeling?" He asked as he sat on the bed.

She shrugged. "Much the same as last night and this morning, though I am glad to be off that horse. Mr. Blair told me it would be several days before the pain began to subside."

"You are speaking to me again..."

Another shrug and she turned her face away.

"Oh, Lyra, I am so sorry," He moved further on to the bed and pulled her into his arms.

"William, no!" She pushed at him but he held her firm.

"No, please just listen. I am sorry, darling angel, I am sorry." He kissed her head, her cheeks, her hair and she gasped back a sob. "I am sorry," it became a litany, he whispered it over and over, and he found he meant it.

He held her as she cried.

"I was so afraid," she gasped for breath. "He called me whore. He punched me, - pulled me by my hair. When he started kicking me I thought he would never stop. I've never known such pain - so much worse than anything he has ever done before."

"Shhh, there there," he stroked her hair. "You are not a whore, darling."

"You treated me like one. I am supposed to be your lover, how could you use me so?"

"I am sorry," he closed his eyes and pulled her against his chest. "I did what I thought necessary to draw him out, I did not mean to treat you as a whore."

"You don't care for me," one last attempt, one last feeble protest. Her resolve was failing, however - his arms, so strong and warm. His lips, so soft and loving, his hands moving over her body, she could slip back into the safe cocoon if she let herself, the same as their first night together.

"I do care for you," his quiet murmur. "A little too much, I'm afraid."

She shook her head, a denial then with one last desperate gasp she shifted herself higher, buried her face in the nook of his neck and wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging as tight as she could. For there was no one else - no one in the world who could give her the comfort and protection she desperately needed. There was no Sally, no Mrs. Bryant. No mother or father... Only this man, professing to care for her.

"Am I forgiven then? For using you as bait?" He asked quietly, tightening his hold on her.  
She heard the hope in his voice, heard his need. She remembered asking him the exact same thing two nights ago, when she admitted to knowing the Ghosts identity for months.

And just like he could not forgive her then, she could not forgive him now. She gave him the same answer he gave her.

"No, William. I understand, but it does not mean I can forgive you. Not for this."

"Please Lyra," his murmur sounded desperate but she shook her head.

"One day perhaps, but it is too fresh yet. As I said, I understand. I just wish things to go back to the way they were."

He was silent a moment then he nodded. "As do I."


	15. Chapter 15 - Jealousy

**Chapter Fifteen - Jealousy**

Lyra was exhausted.

Even with her rest earlier in the afternoon, even with laying on the bed, William at her side for a long time after waking, she still found herself bone tired. And still very much in pain. Before dressing for dinner, Blair, the Corpsman who had inspected her bruises the day before, took another look at her. He was pleased with the way the colours had already changed, informing her it was an indication that they would heal without complications.

"They are still so dark, though!" Lyra twisted around to look down at her side. "And they hurt."

"Yes, as I told you yesterday, they will hurt for some time, a week at least. But ask Colonel Tavington, he will tell you - each day will be better than the last."

"Indeed," Tavington said. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Blair inspected his patient. "The first few days are the worst. But then you would know, Lyra," he rose gracefully and closed the distance, taking a closer look. He grimaced as he gently traced one of the larger, darker blemishes. "He has beaten you before."

Lyra shivered, and jerked down her shift, it would not do to react so in front of Blair. Though the man was a Green Dragoon and knew fully well that she had become his Commander's lover.

"Never this badly, William. Mr. Blair, can I wear my stays now? Mrs. Collins has given me these dresses and I'm not sure if they'll fit properly without stays."

"Yes, I believe it will be fine now, but as soon as you feel uncomfortable, you will need to remove them."

He had taken his leave of them soon after, and Tavington had helped her to dress.

Dinner was a trial.

Though she entered on Tavington's arm, she found that Mrs. Collins - who had charge of the seating arrangements, had placed Lyra near her husband Mr. Collins and her brother in law, Tristan. Lyra did not mind, she had been looking forward to speaking with her old friend again.

Tavington had been less than pleased, however, and had watched in chilly silence from where he sat across from her, further along the table. Katie herself sat beside him as far from her husband as she could manage, and continually tried to engage him in conversation, but the Colonel was tense, and clearly displeased.

Not even Bordon and Wilkin's cheery banter could draw the Colonel out.

To make matters worse, Mr. Bradley Collins kept shooting her smokey looks. Lyra sighed and tried to ignore him, she was used to men staring but had never enjoyed it. He sat at the head of the table and she was at his right hand. He leaned in, brandy glass in hand, and whispered how beautiful she looked in her new dresses, far more so than when his wife had worn them. He gazed at her bosom, eyes lingering, and Lyra found herself leaning away, shuffling closer to Tristan.

Which angered Tavington, of course. He cleared his throat, the first sound he had made since sitting to their meal and when she glanced his way she was met with a steely, cold gaze. Tristan was oblivious, chatting away about the 'old days' and telling her of mutual friends and acquaintances. Lyra began to feel quite comfortable, despite Mr. Collins unwanted attention and Tavington's implacable jealousy.

Tristan represented the happiest time in her life, when her parents were alive and she was loved. Safe and secure. The two fell right back into their friendship despite their years apart. Ignoring Collins and Tavington both, Lyra allowed herself to be drawn in by Tristan and found herself laughing and exchanging stories. She did not even realise, until she began to relay her life at Smiths farm, that there actually had been some good times. Not with Smith himself, never with Smith, but with her mother and Sally, and some of the girls she had befriended from Pembroke - Anne Howard for instance.

Dinner came to an end, and Lyra returned to her room to change. It amazed her, how readily she slipped back in to the forms of polite society. Her mother had never allowed her to forget who she was, never allowed her to act like a country girl. She found she was grateful for the continued lessons in etiquette, though she had been perplexed at the time. Her mother must have known that Lyra would be thrust back into the real world eventually.

She sat at the small table, inspecting her reflection, debating whether or not to remove the powder she had applied earlier. She never usually wore cosmetics, but with the bruises... They were so dark on her cheeks, she could see them even beneath the powder! But perhaps if she removed it Mr. Collins would not stare so...

The door opened and Tavington strode in, shutting it behind him with an ominous 'click'. Lyra turned to face him and sighed heavily.

Dear Lord, this man could have given her stepfather a run for his money, when it came to jealousy! Smith had been almost intolerable, always scowling if she so much as looked at another man. And if she had dared to laugh with one! He never said anything at the time, of course, but he had been good at nursing his temper, unleashing it when they were alone.

William, it seemed, was no different. He stood before her, his back ramrod straight, his arms crossed behind him his back. His eyes cold and hard, chin lifted as he stared down his nose at her.

"It is not my fault, William," Lyra said before he could speak. "I didn't ask to be sat apart from you."

He raised an eyebrow coolly, when his spoke, his voice was cold and hard. "You did not have to enjoy his attention so much."

"Attention? Lord. We were _reminiscing_. Speaking of days long gone."

"Fascinating." He snapped.

"I do not have many friends, William. I enjoyed myself with him."

"Quite obviously."

"Dear Lord! What do you want me to say? What of Mrs. Collins? I thought she would climb into your lap! I'm shocked her husband didn't notice!"

"Mrs. Collins," Tavington curled his lip. "A ridiculous woman, her attempt to keep us apart tonight will be addressed. As for her husband, he was too busy staring at you to notice if his wife _had_ sat in my lap."

"You noticed to?" Lyra shivered with distaste. "He's horrid. I wish I had never been sat by him, old friend of the family or not. I hate men like him, always staring."

Tavington hesitated, studying her for long moments as she held his gaze.

"Is that why you moved closer to the whelp?"

"Whelp?" Lyra raised her eyebrows, an amused smile playing on her lips. Her tone turned serious, however. "Yes, William, it is why I sat closer to Tristan, to create as much distance between myself and his brother as I could under the circumstances. I was just now trying to decide if I should remove this powder, perhaps he won't stare so he could see my bruises."

"Hmm, I see," he took a step closer and she rose, melting against him as his arms came around her. "It wouldn't work," he said against her hair. "You are beautiful even with the bruises. I will ensure this does not happen again."

"How?"

"A sharp talk with Mrs. Collins. Failing that, we shall simply ignore her seating arrangements, won't we?" He smiled down at her and she laughed.

"Yes, we shall. Though this jealousy over Tristan... William, it is ridiculous. I've given myself to you, I am your lover. Will you really stop me speaking to an old friend? You don't mind me talking with Wilkins or Bordon."

"Don't mind? No, sweet angel - I tolerate you speaking to Wilkins and Bordon, because I have to. Neither would try to court you, they understand you are mine. But this Tristan? He clearly has feelings for you."

"He is a friend, one long lost and finally recovered."

Tavington tightened his lips and his eyes became cold again.

"You and I have only just reconciled, William!" Lyra drew away from him. "Do you really want to quarrel _now_?"

"No, I do not. However, I do not want you spending all of your time with him. When we return to the parlor in a moment, you - will - sit - by - me." His tone commanded, every inch the Colonel.

"Very well. I will not be rude if he engages me in conversation, however."

"I do not expect you to. Nevertheless, the whelp needs to learn you are mine and -"

"I would prefer it if Mr. Collins were to learn it, myself. I was not comfortable near him William, but if he were to know I'm yours I am certain he would not dare look crosswise at me again."

"I dare say," Tavington murmured and drew her close again, a hint of a smile playing about his lips, pleased by her words. He cupped her face with his hands and kissed her gently, slowly, until her knees felt weak.

"Will you come to me tonight?" She murmured between kisses, and Tavington's eyes glinted with amusement.

"Ah. You would like me to come to you?" he asked her as his lips drifted along her neck.

"Oh, yes," she murmured. "So much..."

"Then I shall," his breath felt warm against her neck, she shivered as tingles shot along her spine. "As if I would sleep elsewhere."

"I should have known," Lyra laughed. She touched his clean shaved cheeks gently. "You already have a plan in place, didn't you?"

"You've come to know me well," Tavington smiled down at her.

Lyra felt a wave of relief flood through her, though she had not realised she had been tense. With Mrs. Chambers showing Tavington such attention, however, a small part of her feared he would visit the married woman's room instead of Lyra's.

"We have been together so much over the last few days," she said quietly. "It is so strange now, to be apart from you. I am at a loss -" her voice caught and she averted her gaze.

"You are at a loss without me?" His tone was gently mocking. "That is what you were going to say, is it not?"

Embarrassment flared, turning her face bright red. "You are mocking me."

"No, my sweet darling," he said in a soft tone. "I would never mock you. We must return to the others now, but after everyone has retired, I will be in here with you. Before midnight."

"Good," they shared a smile.

"Shall we?" He drew away and offered her his arm.

:::::::::

"Lyra," Tristan said as Tavington led her into the parlor. "Would you join us in a game of cards?"

She looked around Tavington to see the others settling down at the table, and her face flushed red.

"I don't know how to play…"

"I'll teach you!" He said with sudden excitement.

"Very well," she said slowly with a quick glance at Tavington. She expected another outburst of jealousy and temper, but he surprised her. Their talk earlier had worked wonders on him, it seemed.

"I'll join you," instead of another angry outburst, he kept hold of her arm and led her to the table.

She was seated between Tavington and Tristan; Mrs. Collins joined them as well, sitting across from them with Bordon and Wilkins on either side of her. Mr. Collins poured a round of drinks - brandy this time, and sat down with them.

Tristan began her instruction, helping her get through the first few games and all the while Lyra rubbed her foot along Tavington's leg under the table. The Colonel wore a small, self satisfied smile which she chose to ignore. They had reconciled, and although she had not forgiven him for using her, she still needed to be near him, to touch him in some small way. His smile deepened as she shuffled her chair a little closer to his.

"I am going to slap that smile off your face, William," she murmured under her breath. If anything, his grin grew broader.

"What was that, Lyra?"

"Oh, I was just wondering what to do with this card?" She showed Tristan.

"Ah yes, you've been dealt a good hand, Lyra, its a good thing we aren't playing for coins!"

Tavington scoffed quietly and picked up at card from the deck. It was at that moment when, under the table, and third foot joined their play. The Colonel was momentarily startled, as was Lyra. Both turned to the only other person it might have been, Mrs. Collins was sitting back in her chair, a lusty look on her face, gazing at Tavington with adoration as she ran her finger around the tip of her brandy glass.

"There _is_ something between you!" Lyra accused, though her voice was pitched low for his ears alone. Tavington tightened his lips and drew his feet away from Katie's. "You've stayed here before, you said! You will have a hard time explaining this one!"

"She is drunk, Lyra. There is nothing to explain and besides, we will be busy doing other things later."

"Hmmm." Lyra murmured dubiously and Tavington frowned at Katie.

Katie pouted. She kept trying to make some kind of contact with Tavington, either by touch - not easy to do with so many present, and her husband sitting at the table - or by eye contact. But the Colonel would not meet her eyes, his gaze was planted firmly on his pretty little doll. And so Katie did the only thing left to her, she retired for the evening.

Throwing her cards down, she rose from her chair. "Gentlemen, I am really quite tired, I believe I shall call it a night." She caught the Colonel's eyes and her smug smile faltered under his murderous glare. She hesitated, wondering if she had made a mistake, he had such a brutal temper.

Too late, however, events were already in motion.

Lyra rose hesitantly, casting a glance at Tavington. She could not remain with the men unchaperoned, she had to retire also.

Which was precisely the point.

If Katie could not have Tavington's attention, then neither would Miss Lyra Mathan.

The men rose respectfully as Lyra and Katie stepped away from the table. Tavington's eyes still fixed on Katie as she drew Lyra away with her. She quickened her pace to escape that terrible, fury filled gaze.

:::::::::::::

Tavington walked silently down the hall to Lyra's room, half expecting to see Katie hiding in wait. The woman would probably go to his room during the night and find him missing. He shrugged, unconcerned. She knew he was bedding Lyra, she should not be surprised to find him gone, should she come to him. Her attempts to separate him from Lyra must be dealt with, he would see to it in the morning. Separating them during meal time, then worse later when she retired for the evening, knowing full well that Lyra would have to follow suit.

Bitch. He had been enjoying himself with Lyra at his side, the even had not been half so entertaining once she had been forced, by decorum, to leave.

All was still, and Tavington made it to Lyra's room without incident. The door was not locked, and he entered silently.

The girl was fast asleep and he stared down at her for some time, his eyes soaking in her beauty in the sparse candlelight, relishing the warm glow spreading through his stomach. After a deep, need filled sigh, he quickly removed his clothes and slid into the bed beside her, taking her into his arms. Lyra stirred but did not wake, snuggling groggily into his chest.

_It feels good to have her in my arms again,_ he thought as he stroked her hair and back as he gazed up at the ceiling. He had come here to couple with her, of course, but he felt so content with her in his arms, and it had been such a long and tiresome day. Within minutes he fell asleep.

He awoke to the pale light of dawn slowly brightening the room. Tavington jerked up quickly, disentangling himself from Lyra as he rose from the bed.

"Colonel?" Lyra asked sleepily. "What.."

"I have stayed too long my angel; I must try and get back to my room unnoticed." He grabbed up his clothes and began to dress.

"But…" She was having trouble waking up; seeming confused as she looked around. Then she sat up properly as everything came flooding back to her. He stopped dressing to gaze at her in her disheveled state, her blonde hair in a curly mess trailing over shoulders and down her back.

"You did not wake me!" She exclaimed finally, obviously disappointed.

Tavington smiled, he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to kiss her. "Tonight, my sweet. You needed your sleep last night, but tonight… I plan on kissing every inch of your body, before _fucking_ you, again and again."

She gasped at his words, a deep throbbing ache building between her legs.

"No," she rose to her knees, moved around his body, straddled his waist where he sat on the edge of the bed. "I want you to fuck me now."

"Christ Lyra, I've woken a demon in you!" He groaned as she lifted her shift around her hips and began to rub herself against him.

"And I need soothing, William," her tongue lapped his neck and she moaned and ground down against him. "I will not wait for tonight."

"By Christ, neither will I!" He reached down between them and pulled his aching erection from his light cotton pants. "Lift yourself," his voice, dripping sex and command both.

Lyra kneeled high above him, she could feel him guiding the tip of his erection to her entrance.

"There, move down on me," another harsh command, Lyra lowered herself and closed her eyes, biting her lip as he entered her slowly. "Agh!" Tavington moaned.

"God," Lyra panted, feeling pain and desire both. She had not entirely healed from their previous couplings.

"Ah yes…" He smiled up at her, reaching to push her hair from her face. She rested her hands on his chest and he gripped her hip with one hand to guide her movements. His other hand moved along her thigh, higher until he was caressing her folds, searching for her quim. "That's it, just slowly for now – perfect," he breathed.

"Hmmm," she sighed. "I love it when you press me there."

"Why, darling? Tell me what you feel," voice thick with pleasure.

"Small jolts... Oh... So lovely," her hair fell around her face as she bowed her head, and he pushed his fingers firmly against her quim, rotating against her slowly. "Oh..." Her breath quickened and her fingers clutched at his chest. "Just like that...Oh, William."

"Shall I keep going, darling? Do you need to climax?"

She nodded and bore down hard against him, driving him deeper inside her and forcing his fingers to grind against her. Bending forward, she rested her head in his nook and wrapped her arms around his neck, all the while moving her hips up and down, slowly.

"Tell me what you feel now."

"Warmth," she gasped, her lips drifting along his skin to whisper against his ear. "So warm... Oh, it builds and builds... Oh God..."

"Christ, Lyra!" He groaned as his own warmth built steadily, the tension already threatening to burst and he had only been inside her for a minute. "Darling, quick, find your release, I need to feel you clench around me!"

"Selfish," she whispered. "So selfish, William. But I am close... Oh..." She lifted herself abruptly, arching her back as her climax broke over her, floating her on blissful warmth. She rocked against him, still slowly, holding her breath, the sensation - at its height now, carrying her away.

She breathed out slowly, steadily, as the tide receded. Lowering her gaze to his, she smiled warmly.

"Did you feel it?" Her voice was breathless, her face flushed.

"Fuck, yes, it almost undid me... Christ, you are beautiful," he reached for her, pulled her down to him and kissed her soundly. The wet sounds of their lips meeting, and their tongues dancing were in chorus with their heavy breathing.

Lyra began to move again, snapping her hips forward and back. Fire surged through him, sweet and searing, he nipped her lip gently and pushed his pelvis up into her, as she pushed down.

"Agh..." he grunted with approval. "So good my darling," a whisper against her lips. His hands moved down to her hips, guiding her up and down his length, kissing her all the while. His kisses soon became clumsy as tension built, it did not take long before he was at his apex - the point of no return.

"Harder, Lyra, yes, that is it, faster, Christ!" He threw his head back and she kissed his neck as she rode him, their bodies surging together fluidly. A searing warmth blazed, radiating from his erection, buried so deeply inside her, and flared throughout his body. He groaned, a long, low groan of pleasure and release, his cock twitching in her taught velvety warmth. He finally let go and spilled his seed with an explosive sigh.

He threw her back onto the bed, an abrupt movement, an urgent need to claim her with kisses while he calmed. His lips began to move over hers with less urgency and more precision, and his breathing returned to normal.

"Now, that is how lovers make up after a fight, dear Lyra."

"Is it?" She smiled, then laughed and tossed her head. "I am beginning to think we'll be making up often."

"With your temper, I'll say."

"Hmm, don't get my started. You never did get around to telling me about Mrs. Collins," Lyra's voice was tart, her eyebrow raised.

Tavington withdrew from her slowly.

"Tonight perhaps, I've lingered here too long as it is."

"This discussion is not over, Colonel," Lyra said as she climbed back under the covers. He kissed her head lightly and reached under the blankets to knead her breast through her shift. "William!" She pushed his hand away. "Lecher, go, now."

He chuckled and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	16. Chapter 16 - A picnic with Tristan

**Chapter Eleven - A Picnic with Tristan**

Lyra lay back against the pillows with a small smile, the feel of Tavington's seed between her thighs was a welcome one. It pleased her to be reconciled with him, though she no longer felt he was the only person she could rely upon now.

No, she did not have Sally, or Mrs. Bryant, she did not have her parents. But she did have Tristan now, and it warmed her, to have her oldest friend in her life once more. Tavington had been quite right, Tristan had always had feelings for her, even when they were young children, and clearly that had not changed. If events took another dark turn between Tavington and herself, she felt certain she could turn to Tristan to help her.

And they would be in Charles Town soon, in any case. Where she _would_ have Sally _and_ Mrs. Bryant. And a grandmother, Lyra mused. Though the woman was hardly worth mentioning. She had never involved herself in Lyra's life, and even though her grandmother's manor house was not far from Tradd Street, the woman hardly ever visited. Her mother's mother, and she took as little interest in Lyra as she would a slave.

Her father's father, however. Lyra smiled fondly with remembrance. For so long she had pushed the memories aside, it pained her to think of people she loved, people who returned that love. They were all lost to her, for so very long, even Tristan. Her grandfather had passed away, he was still lost to her, but she did not push the memories away now. Of being dandled on his knee, of him reading children's stories to her in his British accent - the exact same accent as Tavington's. Both from Liverpool, she could hardly credit it!

A knock came on the door, followed by Cassie, the maid who had helped her dress the day before. Lyra sighed and rose from the bed, ready to face the day.

:::::::::::::::::::

"You must not leave the plantation, Lyra," Tavington commanded firmly. "I am leaving a score of Dragoons behind, to protect the wounded, but they are here to protect you, also."

Lyra, alarmed by his tone, took his arm and led him to a far corner, away from the nearest of the wounded. The Green Dragoons were in various states of damage, some were already up and about - but some where still laid low, nursing pains from sword strikes and bullet wounds.

"Protect me?" She asked, her eyes wide with fear. "Don't go, then William. Stay here -"

"I can not," he cut her off, his tone cold, abrupt. "I have my duties, Lyra. The Ghost must be caught. He can not know you are here, yet, but I am certain he will learn of it."

"The Ghost?" Lyra quailed. "William, I do not have anything to fear from Benjamin Martin, I am friends with his son, have looked after his younger children -"

"Lyra!" His sharp tone cut her off again. "You told me who that woman was, that Sarah - his sister in law. You gave me information at each farm we visited, and I attacked them based on that information. You - will - not - leave - this - manor. Do you understand?"

She nodded, green eyes wide and fearful. Tavington sighed, he had not meant to tell her so much, but she needed to understand that she was, indeed, in danger. Martin's threat rang through his ears, he would come for Lyra, Tavington had no doubt of it.

"Darling," his tone softened and he pulled her close. "You must do this for me, I can not be worried for you when I am away. I need to focus on my tasks, and I can not do that if I fear you will disobey me and take yourself from the protection I am leaving for you."

"I won't go -"

"You _can't_ go. I've told the men, you will not be _allowed_ to leave, so do not try."

Lyra raised an eyebrow.

"The command is for your own protection. I won't have the whelp believe he can take you on jaunts through the countryside, putting you within reach of rebels who may bare you a personal vendetta."

"Do they, William? You seem awfully certain - do you know for certain that they will come for me?"

"I have made my feelings for you known, Lyra. Perhaps I should not have... Be that as it may, Martin knows. You will be safe here, the Dragoons have their orders and if the plantation is attacked they know what to do, will spirit you away. But you must stay within their reach, or their task to protect you will be made harder. Hence my order that you are not to leave."

"You could have just told me that to begin with," Lyra said sullenly. "When will you return?"

"This evening, hopefully. Or perhaps tomorrow night."

"Oh, you can't stay away over night!" Lyra gripped his jacket as though she could keep him with her. "You can't tell me I'm in danger and then stay away so long!"

"Darling, I am going after him. To Black Swamp. Hopefully I will have the bastard caught or killed and you will not need to worry."

"Unless he comes here, with his full force, while you are away!"

"No, as I said he can not know you are here. Yet. Which is why I am striking today. You are safe enough for now, but each day that passes increases the risk that he will learn your whereabouts. We will leave for Charles Town soon, as soon as the men are able to ride."

"A few days yet, I would judge," Lyra's gaze settled on the wounded. The worst of which would not be able to be moved for weeks, if Blair was to be believed. Tavington had already said he would have to be left behind.

"What are plans for today?" His tone terse again, though Lyra had no intention of lying to appease him.

"Tristan has suggested a picnic," she said calmly.

"Really. A picnic," he said in a flat tone, his eyes cold and hard. Lyra sighed, she thought they had dealt with his jealousy over her friend!

"Yes, a picnic. Then I will visit the wounded again, perhaps see if I can write letters to their families, on their behalf, some of them have wounded their writing hand. Then I might take a nap, I suspect you will keep me awake for most of tonight," she smiled hopefully.

"Hmm. That is the plan," his tone softened.

"Yes, we will be talking well into the night, I would imagine," she said archly with a quirked eyebrow. "As you explain all about Mrs. Collins."

"Christ," he muttered and rolled his eyes.

He took his leave of her, she watched as the Dragoons rode out from the plantation. As she was turned to return to the house, she felt a tell tale pang in her stomach, and a stickiness between her thighs that had nothing to do with Tavington's seed.

Relief washed over her, she had not been certain if the infusion she had been drinking would ward away conception, but it seemed her mother had been quite correct. Lyra was not with child.

"Drat," she muttered as she went in search of Mrs. Collins. There would be no coupling with Tavington after all.

::

"Mrs. Collins?" Lyra approached the older woman warily for two reasons. Mrs. Collins had been less that cordial with her since her arrival, and the added concern that Katie might have bedded William worried Lyra no end.

"Yes, Miss Mathan?" Katie raised a cool eyebrow.

"Ah... Well... I have began my bleeding and I was wondering if you had any swaddling?"

Katie smiled warmly - a secretive, knowing smile. Her voice was soft and amused, "Well, well. That _is_ good news."

Lyra flushed crimson. She agreed, it was good news - she had felt faint with relief, when she saw the bright red blood between her legs, even embraced the cramps when they started. She welcomed them, for the first time ever. But Katie's knowing smile...

_Oh God, she knows about William and I... How does she know? _Lyra lowered her eyes, embarrassed under the other woman's scrutiny.

"Come this way, I have some prepared already."

A puzzle. Mrs. Collins had been cool toward her. Even outright rude at times, when they were alone, anyway. Though she had provided Lyra with two silk dresses and three shifts, and even had her maid take them in for her, she had not warmed to the younger woman.

Lyra suspicions Tavington was at the root of it were growing, that they had had an affair... Yes, she was almost certain of it.

Katie was very warm, now, almost friendly, as she handed the younger woman a pile of folded swaddling.

"You know, Miss Mathan, men generally keep away from women while they are bleeding, they sometimes even seek the bed of another - my husband certainly does anyway," Katie's smile was taunting now. "Not that you need to worry about such things for a few months yet, of course. Until you are married..."

_She thinks he will come to her! _Jealousy and rage twisted Lyra's stomach.

"Well, perhaps not all men are the same," Lyra said when she felt she could trust her voice. "Perhaps he will come to me still." A deliberate pause. "My husband, that is. When I am married."

Katie scoffed quietly. "I wouldn't count on it," she drawled. "Men are base creatures, depraved when they are starved for too long. They can't usually wait a whole five days for coupling."

"Its a good thing my menses only last for two days then, isn't it?" Her voice was tart, and Katie sucked in a harsh breath, curled her lip with displeasure. She would not have as much free time with her former lover as she had hoped.

Lyra recalled how she and Tavington had pleasured each other without coupling, when she was too sore for him to enter her. She smiled broadly, full of false bravado to hide her uncertainty.

"Besides, there are other ways of pleasing a man, to keep him satisfied during a woman's bleeding. Or so I am told. It will be enough to tide him over for two nights, surely."

"Perhaps. It depends. If temptation comes a calling..." Clearly, Katie intended to be that temptation.

"It seems that women can be base creatures also, only one depraved would tempt a man so."

The other woman's eyes widened and she hissed with outrage. Lyra smiled, almost laughed - she had scored a hit.

She swept past the fury filled woman, and strode to her room.

::::::::::::::::::

"This was a good idea, Lyra," Tristan lay back on the picnic blanket under a particularly large oak. "A picnic, in the shade, on a hot day."

"I am surprised it is so hot - surely Summer is over? I had hoped for cooler weather." A pang twinged her stomach, they would become increasingly painful throughout the day until she had to seek her bed. Her menses where short but very heavy and painful. Still, they were tolerable for now, and she was enjoying Tristan's company.

"Wait until the rains start - you will be wishing for Summer again soon enough."

"That is usually the way of it." Lyra agreed.

"Lyra, are you a captive?"

"What?" Lyra laughed, mirth fled when she looked at Tristan's handsome face, and saw he was quite serious.

"The guards! He has left a score of men, perhaps more! And those ones -" he lowered his voice, his eyes darting to the eight Dragoons who stood nearby, watching and patrolling. "Are you a captive?"

"No," Lyra shook her head. "They are my protectors. My guards."

"Guards?" Tristan's tone was disbelieving. "Guards."

"Yes," she decided to tell him a half truth. "Tristan, I was with the Green Dragoons while they visited farms owned by Patriots. Wilkins gave most of the information Colonel Tavington needed, but occasionally he looked to me, especially as we drew closer to Pembroke. He told me this morning that he fears retribution and although he did not go into detail I believe it is because Christopher Martin's home, and his father in law's where burnt to the ground, his wife was taken hostage, and all because of the information I gave."

"Christ," Tristan murmured. "I had no idea..."

"It was not pleasant. I tried to lie at first - tried to tell him Sarah was not married, because I did not want him to learn she was Benjamin Martin's sister in law. Colonel Tavington grew quite angry when he realised I was lying to him, and he can be frightful when angered. And so, despite how horrible it was, I told him the truth from then on."

"Well, Loyalists are being attacked too, the rebels are not innocent of wrong doing. It is good that he is working so hard to bring Martin to heel. You did the right thing, Lyra."

"I know..." she sighed. "They, the Dragoons, had taken several girls captive. The girls were bait to bring the rebels out of hiding. It worked, but not wholly - the rebels laid an ambush - it was the skirmish that wounded those Dragoons who are resting now. During the skirmish, the rebel women were rescued - including Sarah, who has no doubt told them everything about me and my part in her capture."

"And so it is important to keep you safe..."

"So Colonel Tavington says."

"It must have been frightening for you."

"It was horrid, all the noise, the stench of blood... And the bodies - I've never seen anything like it."

"How were you hurt?"

Lyra hesitated, uncertain how much she should reveal. "Tristan, my stepfather Thomas Smith, despite popular belief, was _not_ a nice person. He was a brute and hurt my mother terribly. He already knew, prior to the attack, that I was not a prisoner to be freed. He knew I was trying to escape him, and that Colonel Tavington was helping me. And so, when they attacked, he came after me. When he got hold of me during the skirmish he..." Her voice caught, she continued quietly, "he beat me."

"Oh, my God! Lyra!" Tristan took her hand in his. "You poor thing! How did you get away?"

"Reverend Oliver was with him, and when he learned what a brute Thomas really was, he tried to fight him to protect me. But Tavington intervened, when Thomas almost had Oliver beaten. He killed Smith."

"Christ," Tristan's eyes where large. "He killed him, just like that?

"Just like that. Well, they fought for a bit, but the Colonel was better than Thomas and was able to strike him down."

"Right there in front of you?"

Lyra nodded. "Yes, I saw it all. I can not weep for him, Tristan, he truly was a brute. Does it make me a bad person, do you think? To be glad a person is dead? He died, and I am free of him, thats all I care about - not that he suffered pain or death. Only that I am free."

"No..." he said slowly, gazing at her with surprise - her stepfather must have hurt this gentle creature terribly, for her to feel no grief over his death. "I wish I had known you were suffering so, Pembroke is not so far that I could not have come to take you away."

"Thank you, Tristan," Lyra smiled and placed her hand alongside his face, running her thumb gently across his cheek. When she lowered her hand, he sighed with disappointment. "So you see, it is simply not safe."

"I do see."

"Lets talk of happier things... Gossip! Tell me all about Emma, and her sisters and... Everything!"

Tristan laughed, and continued filling Lyra in on eight years of Charles Town gossip.

::::::::::::

After lunch Lyra spent time with the wounded Dragoons, writing letters for them as promised, still trying to ignore the pains as they grew. She suffered through dinner, ignored Mr. Collins smokey looks, ignored Mrs. Collins penetrating glances. She spoke quietly with Tristan, but when he asked her to join him in the parlor after dinner she begged him off and fled to her room.

Her stomach cramps had gotten the better of her, and with a low moan, she curled up on her side on the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. Her mother had pinioned that Lyra had such terrible pains and heavy bleeding because her menses where so short. One day of heavy bleeding, a day of light bleeding, and she was done. But oh, the pain - for that first day... She often wondered if it would be preferable to have a longer menses, but for now she was just as glad. The sooner it was done, the less time she had to spend worrying if Tavington was with Katie.

A few hours she lay there, but eventually the sounds came from the hallway indicated that the family were retiring for the evening. A maid came in to help her out of her stays and to unbind her hair, brushing it until it gleamed. When the girl left, Lyra changed her swaddling again, and climbed back into her bed wearing only her shift.

She was not sure what time it was, she had laid on the bed, nursing her pain, for some while. An hour or so later, she heard the Dragoons return, the sound of their horses hoof-falls pounded the ground. Men calling to one another.

He will probably check on the wounded first, she mused. Have some dinner, return to his room to change...

Eventually, her door opened and Tavington stole into her room. He began to disrobe almost immediately.

"Lord, what a day, I suppose I should have bathed before coming to you, I must stink of horse."

"Hmmm." Lyra turned over to watch him by the candlelight.

"We went further out than normal, close to Black Swamp. I believe you were correct, he is hiding out there somewhere on the island, though he was not there."

"I told you so," she murmured.

"Has anyone told you it is discourteous to say 'I told you so'?" He asked as he strode toward the bed.

"Hmmm."

He climbed in beside her, drawing her close, nuzzling his nose in her hair. "You smell far sweeter than I, darling."

"Eww!" She pulled away and wrinkled her nose. "You _do_ stink of horse!"

"Another discourteous thing to say, you are quite ill-bred," he tipped her head up and brushed his lips over hers. "Christ, I have wanted to do that all day." His hands roamed over her body, circled down her sides, moving gradually lower.

"William - we can't tonight."

"Oh?" He moved his lips to her neck. "Sorry, darling. I simply will not take no for an answer - my need for you is too great."

"I have my menses." She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

He drew away from her, a look of surprise and disappointment crossed his face. "I see. Well, that is a relief..." he did not sound relieved. Another cramp took hold of her and Lyra grimaced. "Is it hurting you, darling?"

"Hmm mmm," she nodded, waiting for the pain to subside. He stroked her hair, his pale eyes filled with concern. "It always does. Mamma used to say it was because my menses don't last as long as other women's, it comes on in a rush and is over, done with."

"That's good," he brightened, "how long, dearest?"

"The worst will be over tonight. It might be over completely by tomorrow night, but certainly by the following morning."

"Not too long to wait then, little one," he kissed her gently. "I will return to you in two nights." Another gentle kiss, and he moved away from her.

"Wait!" Lyra grabbed his arm. "You won't stay?"

"Darling," he said gently. "Your monthlies are women's business, it would not be appropriate for me to stay."

"Oh..." She dropped her arm listlessly, crestfallen. "Mrs. Collins spoke truly then."

"Your meaning?" It was the wariness in his voice that confirmed her suspicions for once and for all.

"Your other lover," Lyra said archly. "She was quite pleased that I was bleeding, she will come be able to come to you now."

"My other lover?" He said in a low voice, a weak smile, quickly gone as he gazed at her. "Lyra -"

"Will you take her?"

"Lyra -"

"Do not deny it, William, I am not a fool. I have suspected since our first day here, that you had bedded her. I had hoped it was over, that you no longer wanted her."

"I don't want her!" He puffed audibly. "Of course I do not want her, darling. Lord, you suspected?"

"You _do_ think I am a fool!" Lyra folded her arms over her chest and leaned forward intently. "I might take fright easily, but that does not mean I am stupid!"

"I know you are not," his voice was gentle. "Lyra, it happened long ago and she was a diversion, nothing more."

"Truly?" She asked in a small voice. "You have not taken her to your bed since we've been here?"

He frowned and Lyra's breath caught - Christ - had he? But then he was shaking his head and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"No, darling. I have spent all my time with you, except for today's scouting. When would I have had the opportunity?"

"I don't know..."

He sighed and cupped her chin with his hands, staring into her eyes earnestly. "Darling, I will never take her again. If she happened to come to me, I would send her away."

"You will not go to her?"

"No, never."

Another cramp welled in her stomach and Lyra breathed deeply against the pain.

"Little one, I will go now, leave you in peace. Rest assured, I will not take Mrs. Collins to my bed again," he kissed her lips and began to rise again.

_And once I get through with her, she will be too frightened to speak to you, let alone taunt you with our affair. Christ, I'm yet to settle with her for trying to keep me from Lyra! Tomorrow now..._

"Wait," Lyra reached for him again, on her knees now, she kneeled at the edge of the bed while he dressed. "William, we have done things together that pleased us both... You do not have to leave."

"Darling," he smiled and shook his head. "You are in pain. I would never expect you to pleasure me when you are hurting."

"You said your need is great..." She moved her palm over his bulge.

"Agh..." He threw his head back and groaned, pushing his hips forward against her hand. "You are not playing nicely, darling. Stop..." He took hold of her hand and held it gently but securely. "My need is great, but I will wait for your menses to finish, before we couple, and that is final." He kissed her to take the sting from his words.

He had had a dull ache for the greater part of the day, and now Lyra had inflamed him further, with just the touch of her hand. But he would not bed her during her bleeding, and he certainly would not allow her to pleasure him while she was in pain. He smiled down at her, stroked her hair, whispered that he would see her tomorrow, then left her kneeling on the bed.

He would hold true to his promise and not bed Katie. Shutting the door quietly behind him, he strode through the corridors, in search of Cassie the maid. She had been willing, the last time he was in the manor.

::::::

_A/N - I've just written a sort of non con brutal scene that will take place in the next few chapters. I'm posting a warning now, and will warn again when I post the chapter. _


	17. Chapter 17 - Caught in the Act

_A/N - This chapter, as all of my chapters, has mature content. Allusions to rape, and the scene I mentioned in the previous chapter - the dubious non-con brutal coupling, will be in the next chapter. It might be offensive... I'm not certain... _

_::::::::::::::_

**Chapter Sixteen - Caught in the Act**

"Colonel Tavington, can I have a moment?" Bordon rounded the corner.

"What is it?" The Colonel snapped.

_Lord, come now man - I don't need this now!_

"I... Wanted to discuss what happened today."

"Stephen, you concern yourself too much with these rebels. You need not fear repercussions."

"It is not only that, Sir," Bordon hesitated. "I am a married man, what I did -"

"Had nothing to do with fidelity, Captain." Tavington understood, somewhat belatedly, that Bordon had come to him for absolution. "Captain, you were acting in the line of duty. We all become a little hot headed at times, and the rebel wench provoked you, she provoked us all. If you had not lost your temper with her, I certainly would have."

"Yes, Sir!" Bordon stood a little straighter, a little taller.

_Ah, that is better... _

"You are an exemplary soldier, Captain," Tavington continued, placing his hand on Bordon's shoulder. "Beyond reproach. If there is a complaint against you, I alone will wear the full mantle of blame, as I have done for other Dragoons who have found themselves... _Stretched_ to their limit."

"Thank you, Sir!"

"Stephen," Tavington dropped his cloak of Colonel and assumed the role of friendship again. "This is why we do not keep ourselves chaste. Lord, how long has it been since you were with Mrs. Bordon?"

"Too long," Bordon muttered. "Weeks."

"I'd have been driven to madness by now. None of the Dragoons will ever reveal it to your wife, if you seek the solace of a doxy occasionally. It does no one any good, holding it all in."

"I have never raped a woman before, William."

"I know you haven't. Take my advice - go and seduce one of the maids, or even Mrs. Collins - do not go to bed alone tonight. I certainly will not be, after today."

"Well, you have Miss Mathan -"

"No, she has her monthlies. I will seek out that maid, Cassie, to take care of me. Are you coming? Perhaps she has a friend - or will accept coin to take care of us both. Maids are not paid particularly well, after all."

"All right." He followed Tavington down the hall. "William?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"It is what I am here for, Stephen."

:::::::::::::::::

_William was partly right, _Bordon thought as he lay alongside the maid he had just bedded. She was snoring softly in his arms, tired after the Captain's frenzied coupling. He had felt far more relaxed afterward, but now...

Guilt crept in, keeping Bordon awake. He thought of his wife, sleeping alone in the bed they shared in the residence the Dragoons were quartered in while they were in Charles Town. He had been unfaithful, but perhaps Tavington had had the right of it. Bordon had been out of his mind with need, and when Anne Howard had defied them in Pembroke earlier that day... When the girl had shown such utter disrespect, waggling her finger under his nose as she shouted at him!

Christ.

He tried to push the girls face from his mind eye, but it was damned near impossible.

He had raped her. There was no excuse for his actions despite William's attempt to reassure him. There would be no repercussions, another thing that did nothing to allay his doubts and his guilt over his actions. He had raped a woman, a tiny thing she was - half his height and half his weight. And he had pinned her to the ground, lifted her skirts, with at least ten Dragoons standing in a circle watching, and none of them raised a hand to stop him -

Agh! Fucking Christ! Guilt surged in him, almost unbearable, leaving him sweating.

:::::::::::::::::::

"Ohh, Colonel..." Cassie gasped. He was every bit as good as she remembered him to be. She knelt on all fours in the middle of his large bed, the Colonel kneeling tall behind her as he gently stroked his heavy erection in and out of her, panting all the while. She cooed, hell, she practically _purred_ as her pleasure built. He hit the canopy deep within her, with force this time and she moaned her appreciation, pushing back against him, trying to draw him in deeper.

"Agh..." a quiet sigh above her, she twisted her neck to catch sight of his handsome face, before lowering her forehead to the pillow once more. She squeezed her muscles around his cock, and smiled when his breath caught.

Very satisfactory.

"Cassie..." a moan above her, he was nearing completion, his hands moving up and down her back. Time for the gentleness to stop, in Cassie's opinion!

Past time.

She began to buck against him, making him move faster. Her climax was building, and she groaned low in her throat as her pleasure surged. The sounds of their skin slapping and their moaning filled the room. She would make it memorable, Cassie decided. She knew fully well that Miss Lyra Mathan had her menses, which was the only reason Tavington had come to her. It was not hard to guess the two of them were lovers, Cassie had been immensely disappointed when she first made the discovery, believing that she would not be able to enjoy the Colonel this visit. But as soon as Lyra had began bleeding... Cassie had smiled, yes, he would come to her, she had been certain.

And she had been right. She squeezed her muscles again.

"Fuck!" Tavington grunted. "Christ!" He snapped his hips back and forth, and Cassie grit her teeth, panting.

"Colonel? Are you awake?" A voice at the door and the lovers froze instantly as Lyra slipped into the room. Tavington, breathing raggedly, threw the covers over Cassie and turned to face his lover as she made her way deeper into the dimly lit room.

_I locked the door! I am certain I did!_

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

_Lord! I thought it would be Mrs. Collins seeking _**_William's_**_ room, not Mr. Collins seeking _**_mine_**_! _

"Get off me!" Lyra pushed at Mr. Collins futilely but the man had her pinned to the bed, his weight covered her body. Strangely, she felt no fear. Rage, there was plenty of rage - but no fear.

"Come now Miss Mathan," his tone coaxing. "I would have thought you would be willing to show some appreciation for our hospitality, you are wearing my wife's silks after all. We have taken you in to our home and you do not have another way of showing your gratitude!" Nestled between her parted thighs, he began to rub his hard bulge against her centre. His breath reeked of whiskey, reminding her of Smith.

"Colonel Tavington said you would be reimbursed for all of it - the Crown will cover everything you provide us!"

"Will he pay for the pretty dresses you have now?" His voice grew thick as his aching erection gained some relief, but he needed more, he needed to buried to the hilt in this lovely young virgin. For two whole days he had watched her, covertly of course, for two whole days he had been filled with need. He had decided he could wait no longer.

"Your wife's silks are old and barely worthy of the name!" She spat. It was not true, the woman had only worn them a season before changing her wardrobe.

"Ah, that feels so good... Hmmm," he closed his eyes and nestled his lips against her neck. "Yes, the silks... Better than you could ever afford, child." He altered his angle and sighed again. "What do you have waiting for you, two thousand pounds?" He began to pull up her shift. "Stop struggling, you may enjoy it."

"I doubt that! Lord, you knew my parents! I am friends with your brother!"

"And my brother is in love with you. Nevertheless, it is all irrelevant, my dear," he tried to catch his lips to hers, but she twisted her head away. "No matter, this..." he rocked his bulge against her harder, "is what I am after."

"Colonel Tavington will kill you when he learns of this!" She snapped.

Bradley Collins' eyes narrowed, by the candlelight Lyra could see his face darken. His gaze pierced her, his face twisted in an angry snarl.

"You will not tell him, or any one else, is that clear?" His tone was threatening, a deep, guttural growl.

_I should be quaking! Why am I not scared?_

Far from showing fear, even in the face of his menace, Lyra began to laugh. A merry, rich, hearty laugh - as though someone had told her a wonderous joke. "Oh, thank you Sir," she managed through her mirth. "I have not laughed like that in such a long time!"

"Are you mad? Stop laughing, or I will slipper you!"

"Slipper me? _Slipper_ me! You stupid man, I am _Colonel_ _Tavington's lover_ and when I tell him you did this he - will - _kill_ - you!" She held his gaze and said the words slowly, deliberately, though her voice still held laughter. "As if you could ever be as frightening as William!"

Mr. Collins eyes widened, suddenly uncertain. "If he is you lover then why is he in his room instead of here with you?"

"I have my menses, if you must know. Now get off!"

"Oh, why didn't you say so?" He climbed off her. "I don't want you while you are bleeding. Are you really his lover?''

"Yes," she curled her lip and shook her head. "Look at you, all worried now - like a whipped dog and he has not even touched you." Her smile became taunting. "_Yet_."

"Now see here, there is no need to tell him surely? Come now, I will not return to you, no harm done."

"You were going to _rape_ me, Sir. If not for the threat of my _formidable_ lover, you _would_ have raped me. I believe there was plenty of harm done."

Lyra rose from the bed and watched as Collins adjusted his banyan around his body.

"Please forgive me for offending you, Miss Mathan," Collins voice came out high and thin.

She folded her arms across her chest, her green eyes glittered as she watched him leave. When the door closed behind him, she sagged against the bedpost, the fire that had raged through her only moments earlier was doused.

Collins had been about to _rape_ her!

It was only the threat of Tavington's retaliation that stopped him.

Oh, and having her menses!

Breathing heavily, she walked quickly, if unsteadily, across the room to her door. On soft feet she padded down the hallway to Tavington's room, to the the security of her lover.

_Surely he will not care if I have my menses now... _

"Colonel?" She called quietly as she turned the door handle. It was not locked, she entered the dim room. "Colonel! Are you awake?" The bed covers rustled, she could hear his heavy breathing.

"Lyra?" His voice was thick with sleep, he threw back the covers and jumped up, naked, from the bed.

"William," shaking with reaction, she rushed over to him and laid her head against his bare chest. "Lord, Mr. Collins came to my bedchamber and he..."

"He came into your room?" He raged and pulled her against him.

"He was going to rape me! William, I was not scared - I told him you would kill him. But now he is gone and... Please, let me sleep here with you? I know, I've my menses but..." Lyra trailed off, her eyes widened as a shape moved under the covers, her eyes fixed on the woman in William's bed. Tavington had not been sleeping, his voice had been thick from love making, thick from sex.

"Oh," she breathed and jerked away from him, anguished.

"Lyra, it is nothing, darling - no wait!" He reached for her as she whirled to leave. "Tell me what happened, Collins came to your room? He tried to rape you?"

Pulling her arm from his grip she continued toward the door. "Don't worry yourself, Sir."

"Wait!" He barked, grabbing her arm again. "She is just a maid - she means nothing! I was only taking her until your bleeding finished -"

"Nothing?" Cassie blurted, offended. She had known he did not feel anything for her, but this? "I am _not_ nothing!"

Lyra spared her a glance, though Tavington ignored her.

"You might as well have taken Mrs. Collins... Either way makes no difference." Lyra shook her head and pulled her arm free again. "I am sorry to have disturbed you, Sir. Please, do continue having your _needs_ fulfilled."

"Christ!" She heard him mutter as she shut the door behind her.

Gripping the wall with one hand for support, she bent forward as hot tears stung her eyes. He was with another woman... He had said he would not take Mrs. Collins again, but made no mention of other women. She felt such a fool. Despair twisted her heart, leaving her gasping. His door flew open, he had donned his banyan and come after her, their eyes met and Lyra pushed off the wall and ran quickly toward her room.

"Darling, wait!" He followed after her, though she reached her room first and she closed the door in his face, locking it. "Lyra, open this door at once!"

Sobbing in earnest now, the confused and heartbroken girl stumbled to her bed where she curled into a ball and pulled the covers up over her head. Tavington knocked and called, jiggling the door handle, though she ignored him, her body racked with tears.

"Just go away!" She finally shouted and he fell silent outside.

"Very well," his voice came to her through the door. "We will discuss this tomorrow when your temper cools."


	18. Chapter 18 - Katie's Punishment

_A/N - mature content! You have been warned. :-)_

_::::::::::::::_

"Oh, dear, trouble in paradise?" A laughing voice behind him.

"_Christ_, Katie, not now!" Tavington growled, he strode from Lyra's room back to his own, meeting Cassie in the doorway.

"Nothing?" She spat, straightening her hastily donned dress around her. "I am not nothing, Sir! How dare you!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" He snapped and pushed past her into his room.

Katie followed, she rounded on Cassie and when she spoke there was a world of fury in her tone.

"You _bedded_ him? You dare! You will leave, I want you out of this house by the morrow. You have lost your place, you stupid wench!"

"Mrs. Collins!" Cassie spluttered. It was a disaster for her, of course. To be released from service thus, who would she find to employ her, when it was discovered she bedded the house guests? "Please - I can't lose my place -"

"You should have thought of that before you bedded him! You will leave, Cassie, that if final!"

Cassie lowered her head, breathing heavily with fear. "What of my references?" She asked in a quiet voice.

Katie hesitated, full of rage she might be, but a few well chosen words from her maid could prove her own downfall. It was not to be risked.

"Tomorrow, Cassie," she went on in a milder tone. "We will discuss it in the morning. You will be given a small amount of coin to take away with you, and references. But you will leave... _quietly_... is that understood?"

Ah, she fears blackmail... Cassie did understand, completely. She had an entire night to work out the sum she would request from Katie. Not too large, of course, Katie could stop her from getting work after all. But it would not be insubstantial, either.

"Fine," she said calmly and with a last glare at Tavington, who was climbing into the bed, she turned and whirled away.

Katie shut the door behind her and turned to regard Tavington.

"Get your fucking clothes off and get into bed," he snapped.

She raised a cool eyebrow as she considered him. He truly was on edge, he was usually so composed.

"I will need help with my stays, unless I was to call for a maid?" She smiled down at him.

"Fuck!" He spat, and jumped out of bed again, stalking toward her with the grace of a panther. His heavy erection proud and hard before him, still slick from his coupling with Cassie. "What are you doing dressed at this hour, anyway?"

He helped her with her bodice and then her stays as she explained. "I am the Mistress of this house, William," she said over her shoulder. "And a mistresses work is never done," she smiled suggestively as she turned to face him in her shift. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft and she began to tug, gently but firmly.

"I already have a mistress," Tavington said, his voice was calm now, but still filled with fury. "One you keep trying to separate me from. Were the events of tonight at your design?"

"What ever can you mean?" Katie said, a little too innocently.

Tavington stared down at her, his face was stone. His instincts where never wrong.

"You had your husband go to her," he said slowly. "Knowing I was with the maid. Knowing that Lyra would either scream the house down or come to me, catch me with Cassie."

"No, William. I had planned that she would catch you with _me_. What the Devil were you thinking, bedding _Cassie_? That came as a complete surprise to me!"

Shock coursed through him. He had suspected, as soon as she met him in the hallway. To have it confirmed however, so blatantly!

Shock shifted to rage, as fast as a striking snake, his hand snapped forward, gripping her arm painfully and he hauled her to the bed.

"Very well," his calm voice belied the fury blazing through him. "You will get what you desire," he pushed her legs apart, knelt between her thighs. "Though you will have no pleasure from it!" He growled the last as he positioned his erection at her entrance, he snapped his hips forward, filling her with one thrust.

Katie cried out and gripped his hips, already panting and meeting his thrusts.

No, she would get no pleasure from it. This was for him alone now.

"Turn over," he growled and pulled out of her.

"Oh, yes... yes..." Katie moved onto her knees, presenting herself to him, cooing expectantly.

He took hold of his erection again, and with a cruel smile, positioned himself once more.

"Oh, no..." She tried to move away now.

"No, Katie. I told you, you would get no pleasure from it." His angry tone held amusement as she flailed beneath him, and he ran his fingers over the smooth, marbled flesh of her buttocks. "Calm yourself. It will hurt, but no less that you deserve."

With a cry, she tried to move out from under him, he grabbed her back and pushed her flat to the bed, pinning her with his weight. He positioned himself once more, and continued his inexorable advance into her the virgin sheath, his erection slick from being inside her moments ago made the going far easier.

"Oh, Christ, no!"

"I told you to relax," Tavington's voice was thick and dripping sex now, his breathing ragged. "You have angered me, Katie, trying to separate me from Lyra, and you may have succeeded with tonights antics." He was half way in now, his entire body tense and taut as he resisted the need to slam inside her where no man had been before.

Katie moaned beneath him, whining and writhing. "William, please, oh god, William!"

"Hush," he stroked her back soothingly. "I will take it slow, despite your disgusting little plot," he breathed harshly against her hair, his arms supporting him above her. "Am I not merciful?" He whispered against her ear.

She swallowed hard and nodded, she was frozen beneath him now, as her body adjusted to his length deep inside her.

"Open your legs Katie," Tavington commanded and surprisingly, the woman obeyed. He settled between her thighs, far more comfortable than he was moments earlier with his legs on either side of her. Moving almost imperceptibly, Tavington growled. "As tight as Lyra," he muttered. "Our first night together. Christ, so tight..!"

He angled down slightly and continued circling, gritting his teeth with the need to thrust, the need to come.

Katie stopped her whining as a new pleasure was shown her. He was being surprisingly gentle, and though it had hurt initially she now found it was not entirely unpleasant. Still, she preferred the _usual_ way of coupling.

"William, please. Darling, your point has been made. I am sorry."

"No you are not," he laughed. "Just another few moments, Katie, and I will withdraw. Christ, it feels good."

Katie was thoughtful for a moment. If he liked it that much... And she was not in any more pain...

Would that little chit pleasure him this way? Probably not, such a delicate doll she was. Far more beautiful than Katie, how in the world could she steal William back from the younger woman? By letting Tavington do as he wished. She gave a small, experimental push up, her hips rising encouragingly. No, not bad. She would not climax this way, and it was uncomfortable, but... Yes, she could do this.

Tavington gasped, gulping for air as Katie began to move beneath him, her pelvis moving back and forth.

"Katie..." He whispered.

Music to her ears. She smiled, now she was used to him, she became more bold.

"You are a cruel bastard," Katie muttered, but she began thrusting - slowly and gently, she could not handle him to move as deep and hard as he normally would.

"And you are... A little... whore..." Sweat slicked his back, his iron control was slipped, her movements beneath him drawing him toward his climax. "Ah... Katie... I need... I need..."

_He wants to thrust... He is holding himself back. But what if it hurts? No, I will not let that chit have him!_

"Then thrust darling," she found herself saying.

Christ, the lengths she would go to to keep him! She almost regretted her decision when Tavington began to rock his hips back and forth, discomfort bordering pain. Still not as bad as it could be, he was holding himself back for her, she knew it. She would not stop him, instead she clutched handfuls of the sheet, and when Tavington's fingers wound over and through hers, twining their fingers, she felt a surge of triumph.

Tavington gulped, barely able to speak, the pleasure was too intense, too immense. "A little faster... Katie... Just a little..."

"Yes."

"Christ!" Losing control fully now, that one little word set him off his leash and Katie whimpered as Tavington snapped his hips back and forth, over and over, a fluid movement that made him want to howl. He threw his head back and groaned, pushed forward deeply one last time as thick ropes of seed shot out of his length deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily, unable to move, speak, think.

"William, you are too heavy."

Finally reason returned to him and he slowly withdrew from her, his body too spent to do anything more than collapse alongside of her.

"Christ," breathing heavily, he draped his arm over his eyes, and did not push her hand away when he felt her fingers tracing the dips and rises of his chest.

"A little whore?" Her laughing voice, not offended at all.

"If the shoe fits," he said, his voice growing cold. "She is alone, probably crying. She won't let me into her room and all because of you," he lowered his arm to stare balefully at her. "You sent your husband to rape her!" His voice harsh now, his anger rising all over again.

"No!" Katie sat up beside him, genuinely aghast. "I would never! I sent him to _seduce_ her! Lord knows he has been ogling her enough, since she first arrived with you. I knew he wanted her, and I also knew she had her menses. I gave him some encouragement, thats all." She spoke all in a rush, hurrying to explain. "I told him she would not refuse him, that she wanted him. William, she was never at any risk, he can not abide being near a woman during her courses, he would have left her alone as soon as he discovered her swaddling clothes. He would not have raped her - he is not the type. He would have left as soon as she refused him!"

"You do not know your husband as well as you thought then, for he did indeed tried to rape her. It was only discovering she is my lover that stopped him, Lyra told me!"

"William..." Katie hung her head, her hair draping her face. "I would never - that is too low. I would not stoop so low. Bradley... He has never done anything like that before."

"He will pay for it, I assure you."

"And I?" She asked hesitantly. Lord, she did not wish to lose him, not now.

"You will cease your attempts to separate us, and you will never, _ever_ pull a stunt like this again, do you understand?" His gaze was piercing, and even though she was looking down on him, she felt pinned by his cold, fury filled eyes.

"I understand," she whispered. "Never again, I swear."

"And you will be polite to her. It has not escaped me, how cold and rude you are to her."

"I will treat her like a sister."

"Even when I am back in her bed tomorrow evening?"

Katie drew a ragged breath. "Truly? You won't come to me, ever again?"

"You came to me," he snorted. After a long, considering pause, he continued. "I have not decided. I am displeased with you, Katie."

But it would be best to keep his options opened. If Lyra did not take him back - shit. How many times would she tolerate being hurt by him? Not many, he was certain. Still, as Lyra herself admitted, he was all she had.

Katie sighed with resignation and lay down beside him. "I will behave, William," she said, turning her head to meet his eyes. "You must know how I feel about you, to go to these lengths."

"Hmm." He replaced his arm over his eyes, but did not push her away when she curled against him.


	19. Chapter 19 - Telling Tristan

**Chapter 19 - Telling Tristan**

"Two hundred pounds?!" Collins snapped. "She's asked for two hundred pounds!"

"A vast figure, I know. But husband, she has been our maid for so long and she knows... Things... We should allow her the amount she has asked for."

"It won't stop her from coming back for more, when the two hundred runs out! Besides," he scoffed, "what does she know?"

"Bradley," Katie rolled her eyes, "how many times have you bedded her? And Marcia, and -"

"All right, all right!"

"And she knows what you did last night, going to Miss Mathan's room," Katie tried to keep the dislike from her voice. "Were you really going to rape her?"

"Little bitch, she was going to refuse me! You said she wanted me, and I was as hard as a rock! Aching! She was on her mensies anyway, but yes. Tempting me and then refusing me? I would have taken her by force."

Katie tightened her lips. "Well, luckily that did not happen. Have you forgotten who she is? She has more than just one blood line, you know. She is not _just_ a Mathan."

Bradley paled. "Well. Um. Yes... I had forgotten, at that. Never fear, she is safe from my attentions." His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you know she is Colonel Tavington's lover?"

"No," Katie breathed, feigning shock. "Really? Dear Lord!"

"Indeed! I hope she doesn't tell him what happened. They rode out so early she probably has not had a chance yet."

_I've married a coward. _Katie resisted the urge to curl her lips.

"Two hundred pounds. I've a better idea, Katie," Bradley met her eyes and Katie raised her eyebrows questioningly. "We keep our two hundred pounds. We keep _her_, pay her more. She's damned good at what she does and if she's gone I'll only be down to two maids - the others rebuff my attentions. Why are we sending her away at all?"

Katie stiffened. _We're sending her away for bedding my lover!_ She could hardly tell her husband that, however.

"Why, for bedding the guests, husband! We are not running a bordello, I will not allow people to believe this is a house of Ill repute."

"Agh!" Bradley waved his wife's concerns away. "Our guests are always gentleman and they do not gossip. No, I'm afraid -"

"Bradley!" Katie cried, desperate now. "The maids are mine, to hire or release from service! I -"

"Ordinarily, yes! But these are hardly usual circumstances, with the maid asking such a large severance! And she might come back for more and I really don't see the point to it! If she tells that she bedded men under our roof, she is the one who will suffer for it! She'd never find work again!"

_She bedded my lover! _Katie still felt uncomfortable, her body ached from his coupling. It warmed her, to still be able to feel him. They had coupled the usual way before she slipped back to her room, just before dawn.

"Besides, I am loathe to give her up. I am loathe to be down to only two maids. Unless you intend to take up your wifely duty more often?"

"I've born you three children, two boys -"

"I still need my dick sucked, Katie and Cassie is awfully good at that. You choose, wife. Cassie leaves and I visit your bed more often or Cassie stays and I leave you be. I know you don't want to go through childbed again."

Katie tightened her lips, frustration and anger.

"Cassie stays," she muttered and whirled from the room.

:::::::

Lyra waited until she could hear the Dragoons ride out before she came out of her room. She had missed breakfast - no matter, she would not have been able to eat to save herself.

At least her bleeding had slowed...

Lyra made her way out of the manor, after a curious exchange with Mrs. Collins, who had actually smiled and nodded her way, and asked warmly after her welfare. Lyra muttered some answer and continued on until she was outside, in the bright, cool morning. Her pains had stopped sometime during the night, for she which she was grateful. She was already suffering enough pain without her menses.

Another woman... Cassie... After everything else he had done, he beds another woman. After all the jealousy he had shown over Tristan, who she had only _spoken_ to! He goes and beds another woman! She collapsed on a lovers bench, placed beneath a pretty tree filled with pink flowers. Not that she noticed, she stared unseeing at all the beauty around her. She ignored her Dragoon guards, two of them, who trailed her silently every where she went. They did not speak to her and kept a respectful distance.

Tristan eventually found her, and joined her on the seat as she had known he would.

"Lyra, what ever is the matter? You look terrible."

Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping and lack of sleep, her cheeks red and blotchy.

"Nothing." She stared despondently into the empty air before her.

"Of course there is," he touched her arm gently. "You can talk to me."

She didn't respond and the silence stretched.

"Well, I have a gift for you, perhaps it will cheer you?"

"A gift?" Her voice was quiet and she slowly turned to him. He placed a small box in her hand.

"Go ahead, open it."

Her interest piqued despite herself, she pulled the ribbon and lifted the lid, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a small, simple gold ring looped through it. The ring was too small for her to wear; it had been meant for a little girl.

"I was going to give that to you when we were children, but I never got the opportunity. It was meant for your eleventh birthday, but you moved away and I never saw you again."

"I can't believe you kept it all these years, Tristan!"

"Well, it probably seems a like a silly thing to do. I was going to give it to my niece, she turned eight recently but I could not bring myself to. I am glad I didn't, now."

"Nobodies ever..." Her breath caught and her eyes filled with tears again. She gave him a tremulous smile. "It is beautiful, thank you."

"Lyra," he took her hand, his voice filled with concern. "Please, talk to me, tell me what is wrong."

"I am a fool," she rasped and he pulled her into his arms.

"No you are not," he stroked her hair. "Its that Tavington isn't it."

A statement of fact, not a question.

"I thought he cared for me, Tristan! He has protected me, I feel safe with him. He has hurt me too, but... See? I am a fool. And last night when I went to him, he was with another woman!"

He stiffened, his hands on her hair stilled.

"You went to him? Lyra, have you given yourself to him?"

She drew back from him, studying him carefully. "Are you truly my friend, Tristan?"

"Oh, Lord... You have," his face twisted with anguish, he pulled his arms back from her shoulders.

"Tristan, please, are you truly my friend? I need a friend, someone to talk to - Mrs. Bryant is gone, I do not even have Sally. I am so alone, and you are the only person I can turn to." She hung her head as her tears spilled over her cheeks.

He did not answer right away, finding himself conflicted. Torn between his need to be there for her, and his jealousy and despair that she had given herself to another. Finally he nodded, his love for her outweighing his heartache.

"I am here for you Lyra."

As if a dam broke, his words released her. Starting at the beginning, she told him everything. Not the washed down version she had told him the day before, but the story entire.

From Thomas Smith's treatment of her, the things he had made her do. Of her escape from the farm, her capture by Tavington. Of giving herself to him, and her growing affection for him. Of the rebel attack, Tavington using her as bait and Smith's death. She told it all, Tavington's gentle, and sometimes _not_ so gentle, treatment. Of arriving at the mansion and getting her menses. Of Mr. Collins coming to her, and finally discovering Tavington with another woman - Cassie the maid. Tristan sat still throughout, listening quietly as Lyra poured her heart to him. He had taken hold of her hand during her telling, had resumed the gentle stroking of her hair. Finally, she fell silent.

"Christ," he stared into the empty air above her head. He tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Lyra, did my brother really come to you last night?"

"Yes. I would not lie, not about something like that. I would rather have not told you at all, but I have no one." Her face crumpled as fresh tears threatened to fall.

"Shh, do not weep. You have me."

"Truly? You do not hate me, for giving myself so freely? I've been so confused... My virginity became a burden, I felt the need to rid myself of it so Thomas could not claim it. I'm sorry - I know it does not make sense, I can't explain it."

"I won't pretend I understand, Lyra. You had so many options, by your own admission Tavington gave you a choice that first night - you did not have to give yourself to him!" He breathed deeply and eased the frustration from his voice. "But if Smith had been doing all that, for so long... I suppose I do understand at that, though I wish you had made a different choice."

"I do too, especially now. Who will wish to marry me, used as I am?" She sighed. "At least I am not with child, I've my menses - perhaps I am being given a second chance. I would be even less desirable as a wife if I was carrying someone else's bastard."

"Yes, you are very lucky to have avoided pregnancy."

"Not lucky. My mother used to drink a tea made from lovers bane - I do not know what the real name for the herb is, but it grows in the woods and a tea infusion made from the herb keeps belly's from swelling. I have been drinking it, but I was not sure if it would work because the leaves weren't dried..."

"Oh, well... Good. Sensible of you, Lyra. Lord, did my brother hurt you?"

"No. I laughed at him - Tavington is very dangerous -"

"I'll say."

"And when I told your brother that I am Tavington's lover, he grew fearful and left. He was repulsed by my bleeding too, I think."

"Yes, he always speaks about how he can't abide a woman's bleedings," he was now convinced she spoke the truth. "I'll kill him. That utter bastard."

"Tristan," she squeezed his hand. "I appreciate the gesture, I do, but if you quarrel with your brother you will be forced to leave here, forced to make your own way and I couldn't bear it. This is your family home. Besides, he has been walking on eggs shells around me all morning. And it helps that I laughed at him, mocked him... I was not frightened, I promise. Angry, disgusted, but not frightened."

"Because you have been hurt too many times, Lyra!" He puffed angrily. "You have grown accustomed to it and that is not how it should be! You need someone who will truly protect you, a man who will never hurt you." He paused and, stifling his nerves, continued in a murmur. "I could be that man."

Her jaw dropped. "Tristan, weren't you listening? I am not a virgin!"

"I was listening," his lips tightened. "I do not like it, not one bit. But... Well, I am not perfect either."

"Oh?"

"I... Lyra, I got a young woman with child and refused to marry her."

"What?" She drew back from him, stunned.

"I know the babe is mine, but I can not - to be married to her for the rest of my life?" He shook his head violently. "No, she was only after my inheritance. It is not a huge sum, but it is far more than she will ever see in her life time."

"Tristan... Your baby!"

"I will help - provide for the baby and the like. I will even put a small sum aside for him, or her, to become educated or for a dowry. I am a gentleman after all. But I will _not_ marry her."

"Why? What is so terrible about her?"

"She had been with at least three other men before me, Lyra. I only know the babe is mine because there was no one else for her, at the time. All the other men who could have been the father had taken themselves off to war. Like you, she had her menses, and afterward we..." He coughed with embarrassment, then met her gaze once more. "Do you hate me?"

"Who am I to judge? I guess we have both done things we regret."

"Then you will consider it? I was going to ask your permission to court you, with the intention we would eventually be wed."

"Courting for now? We won't rush into anything?"

"No, we won't rush. Do you love him?"

"I think so," she swallowed hard. "I am sorry, Tristan. I do want you to court me, we would make a good match, don't you think? But I do not want to lie to you, either."

He sighed, accepting her words. "We would make a good match. I have ten thousand pounds, you will have two thousand, or so you think. With careful investment, we could have a nice little income. We could live in your house in Charles Town, it will become ours when we have a son. And if we sell your stepfather's farm, that will add to our wealth. I would estimate we would be able to sell it for at least twenty thousand pounds - so we'd have thirty two thousand - perhaps more, but with the war we might not get much for the property, especially with the house burnt -"

"I thought you said slowly, Tristan?" She asked gravely.

"Ah... Yes, I did," he quirked a small smile. "I am sorry..."

"It's alright." She smiled weakly in return. "It is comforting, actually, to have a plan in place. I just do not want to rush it."

"Understood," he nodded decisively. "I am glad you realise that Tavington is dangerous, Lyra."

"How can I not know? After everything I have seen, after all he has done in the last few days. Even now - they are off scouting, I wonder who is being hurt, whose farms burnt..." She shrugged. "It matters not, it is over between us. He was with that Cassie, while I lay in my bed suffering from stomach cramps!"

"Hmm. Cassie. Lyra, she is a tempting creature and free with her favours. If you had your menses..."

"What are you saying?" She frowned, confused. "Are you justifying Tavington's bedding her?"

"Well..." he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "In a way. You two don't have an understanding as such, he is free to bed who he wishes. But I think you are wrong, it is not done between you. I have seen the way he looks at you, he will not let you go without a fight."

"Will you let it frighten you off?"

"No, not when you could be my wife at the end of it."

"And if you were my husband, would you be faithful or would you stray every time I have my menses?"

"I would be faithful," he winced, cocked his head to one side. "I would _try_ to be faithful, anyway," he amended.

"At least you are honest about it," she scoffed. "Have you bedded Cassie, also?"

"Yes."

"Lord, how many women have you been with? You are only eighteen like me!"

"A few," he smirked. His gaze became longing, "but you, Christ, you would be the crowning jewell. Lord, I hope we do marry..." His eyes lingered on her lips, he seemed ready to kiss her.

Lyra leaned a little closer and tilted her head back, which was all the invitation Tristan needed. With a low, contented sigh, he brushed his lips against hers, and pulled her into his arms.

::

Later that night, Lyra locked her bedroom door behind her and sat at the small table with the mirror.

Yes, Tristan had been right, the bruises were fading, he had told her as much earlier that day. She tilted her head this way then that, and noticed they were nowhere near as dark as they had been. The couple had sat on the bench for quite sometime, kissing gently, then not so gently when the need took them - despite the Dragoon guards set to watch over her. They maintained their distance, their backs to the kissing pair, doing nothing to intervene. Lyra found it easy to ignore them.

Tristan was quite a handsome boy, broad in the shoulders, well muscled. It set her heart to racing wondering what he looked like underneath his shirt and jacket and Lyra as she lay in her bed now she found herself sore tempted to seek his room and couple with him. Her bleeding had stopped, after all.

With a heavy sigh, she resisted the urge, instead pulling the covers back on the bed and climbing in, snuggling into the blankets with a contented sigh. No, a night of lovemaking was not what she needed, she had barely had a wink of sleep the night before as it was! Her eyes where already heavy as she laid her head on her pillow.

The night before had been a horror - with her stomach cramps and then discovering Tavington with another woman, she would have been lucky to have had two hours sleep. Her pains, and her bleeding, had stopped sometime during the day, and before dinner she had enjoyed a long, soothing bath.

She had had such an enjoyable day with Tristan. With a small smile, she fingered the ring on its delicate chain around her neck, it nestled nicely beside the locket which held her parents portraits, on a heavier gold chain. Her smile broadened as the memory of their afternoon washed over her. It had been cleansing, confiding in Tristan - she was pleased that she had left nothing out - and that he would still wish to court her to marry her.

And the way he kissed - yes, very agreeable, Lyra chuckled and sighed. They had settled under a large oak tree, she sat across his lap and they kissed and snuggled the day away.

_"It feels strange, this..." _

_"What does?" Tristan moved his lips to her neck and she sighed._

_"Just kissing... It is so nice."_

_"Hmm, it is. Very nice," his breath was warm against her skin. "Though I have to tell you, Lyra, I am as hard as a rock."_

_She smiled down at him, her eyes bright and teasing. "You poor darling. Perhaps I should do something about that."_

_"Oh?" Tristan's gaze was hopeful and filled with need. Then he shook his head. "No, you have your menses."_

_"It is all but finished," she nudged her nose against his, rubbing gently before claiming his lips with hers. _

_He groaned against her mouth and cradled the back of her head with his hands. _

_"Hmm, so tempting..."_

_"But..?" Lyra drifted her lips and trailed kisses along his jaw. _

_"But we should do it right..." Tristan murmured. "We need to deal with _**_him_**_, first - he is not going to like this one bit."_

_"I do not have an understanding with him, remember? I was his lover, and he was to escort me to Charles Town. It is over now, though, done with. I am free to bed who ever I wish."_

_"Christ..." He groaned. "God, I want to be inside you..."_

_She caressed her fingers over his face gently. "Perhaps..." Her lips brushed his. "Perhaps we should... We are speaking of marriage, Tristan."_

_"Yes, and we agreed to take it slow. Your idea, remember? Lord, I can't believe I am saying this, when all I want to do is throw you to the ground and lift your skirts right now, but I think we should wait. Until we are wed, or at least are engaged. When Tavington is out of your life for good."_

_"You could take me to Charles Town. You are going soon - aren't you? For the ball..."_

_"Yes, but what of the threat from the rebels, Lyra? I can't protect you from Martin."_

_She sighed with resignation, but nodded. "True..."_

_"So, we wait?"_

_"We wait."_

_"God, I am a fool," Tristan groaned and crashed his lips to hers. "An utter fool - I should claim you now."_

_She smiled, then gently glided her tongue along lips, her body warm and tense as she listened to him groan again. Many hours later, the two made their way back to the manor. The Dragoons had not yet returned, they still had not returned when Lyra bid Tristan good night - pointedly ignoring Mr. and Mrs. Collins. _

"Such a nice way to spend the afternoon," she said aloud, her voice sounded loud in the quiet bedroom. She closed her eyes, and sleep claimed her.


	20. Chapter 20 - Middleton's Report

**Chapter 20 - Middelton's report**

The Green Dragoons arrived back at the plantation late in the evening, after having scouted through Black Swamp, finding the camp deserted.

"Perhaps Smith warned them, that Miss Mathan knew where the rebels were located," Richard Wilkins, James' younger brother mused as the men left the stables.

"Hmm. That is a very real possibility. He came at us with his full force the other night, the remaining rebels would not have risked returning to the Swamp, weakened as they were they could not have protected their command post." Captain Wilkins replied,

Tavington held his silence as the two brothers discussed where the rebels might have retreated to lick their wounds. The Colonel was focused on only two things now he had returned from the days scouting. Dealing with Mr. Bradley Collins and smoothing the waters between himself and Lyra. If that was even possible. The men made their way into the house.

"If you ask me, I'd say he's gone to Burwell," Richard said.

"Yes, he will need to report his disastrous attack," James' smile was smug. "General Burwell will not be pleased."

"No, he will not," Tavington cut in. "Why don't the two of you go to the kitchens? The cooks should have kept something warm for you."

"You are not coming, Sir?" Wilkins asked, surprised. It had been quite a few hours since they had eaten.

"No, I will later," he nodded curtly and stalked away from them, heading for the parlor.

Collins first, Lyra second.

"Still awake, are you? Good," Tavington strode into the parlor and stood over Mr. Collins. "You," he barked at Katie without looking at her. "Out."

"What? Colonel -"

"Now, Mrs. Collins," his tone stern, he would brook none of her nonsense. His eyes fixed on Collins, who was breathing heavily and sitting back in his chair stiffly. Katie left the room, she walked slowly at first, wanting to witness as her lover berated her husband over his attack on Lyra, but by the time she reached the door she was running, the tension in the room had grown palpable.

Tavington uncoiled like a spring, flashing forward, he gripped Collins by the front of his jacket and hauled him bodily from the chair and shoved him hard against the wall.

Collins gasped, his eyes wide - he did nothing to defend himself.

"How dare you?" Tavington's tone was clipped with fury. "Try to force yourself on Miss Mathan! You know fully well she is under my protection!" He gave the other man a shove, hard enough to rattle his teeth.

"Colonel, I apologized, it was an honest -"

Another hard shove. "Mistake?" He roared. "Did you enter the wrong room? You tried to rape her! _My_ lover!" Another shove, then he threw Collins viscously to the floor. "Get up." His voice was cool now, composed once more.

"Sir, I... I do not wish to fight you. I will apologize again, please - I will do anything!"

"Get. Up." The Colonel grated coldly, his tone heavy with deadly intent and entirely without mercy. "Or I will draw my sword."

"No!" Collins rolled onto his knees and pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. "No, Sir, this is not necessary." He gained his feet, stood swaying before the enraged Colonel.

Tavington jerked his arm back, his closed fist punched into Collins face with all his force. Bradley's head snapped back, he howled with pain and shock, blood spurted from his nose.

"You broke my nose!" He wailed.

"Put. Your. Fists. Up." Tavington held himself back, ready, waiting for another opportunity to punch the other man.

Bradley swallowed hard. He raised his arms slowly, clumsily, trying to fix his watery gaze on Tavington, his eyes where tearing from the pain of his broken nose.

Tavington whipped his arm back, smashing his fist forward into Bradley face once more. As the other man began to topple with another groan, the Colonel viciously kicked his legs out from under him. Bradley fell heavily. Crying in earnest now, he lay on the ground, begging Tavington to stop. The Colonel paced around him, a lion stalking its prey.

"I am sorry! Please! I did not know she was yours. I swear - I will never go near her again, please, don't kill me!"

"I punched you and kicked you. You will hardly die of it!" Tavington spat with disgust. He leaned down and gripped the front of Collins jacket again. The man recoiled, and the Colonel curled his lip - Collins' face was covered with snot, blood and tears. "You will never go near Lyra again. If I have a single complaint regarding your conduct toward her, I will challenge you to a duel. She is _mine_!"

"Yes, Sir... Never - I will not say boo... She is yours... Please... Oh, Lord."

With a savage thrust, the Colonel pushed the other man away. "I am surprised at your cowardice, you are the first Loyalist I have met who lacks balls. Pathetic." He sneered and turning abruptly, he strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. He was vaguely aware of Katie, as she darted back into the parlor to speak to her husband, though he did hear her gasp of dismay - her husband looked a sight indeed..

His long strides took him through the manor, he was soon outside. A few moments more, he was pushing the door to the ballroom open to check on his men.

They were healing well, no infections, some few more had risen and were almost ready to resume light duties. It seemed that Doctor Johnson knew his trade well. He was pleased to discover that Lyra had visited the wounded men before dinner, as she had the day before. The Dragoons enjoyed her visits, she had been reading to them, and had sat beside one young man - a youth of only seventeen years, and held his hand while he spoke to her of his fears. He had wished to write a letter to his parents, and then all of the Dragoons wished to write to their loved ones. Lyra wrote on behalf of the Dragoons whose wounds would not allow them to hold a quill.

Tavington smiled as he left the ballroom, well pleased to learn that his lover had tended his men. He would check on the Dragoons camping outside, listen to Middleton's report, and then go directly to Lyra. He hoped her temper had cooled enough that she would allow him into her bed again. She had said her menses only lasted a few scant days, it may be over already.

Even if it was not, he would sleep beside her in her bed, wrap her in his arms, as he should have done the night before.

_Lord, I could have waited a day or two. I did not have to bed Cassie... Or Katie for that matter._

He had only bedded the maid to ease his ache. If he lost Lyra over a _bloody_ maid... He shook his head.

Insupportable.

The idea was not to be born.

"Colonel Tavington," Michael Middleton trotted over to him. His wounds had not been particularly bad, he had resumed his duties earlier that morning.

"Ah, Middleton. Report."

Middleton stood to attention, and told Tavington of the days happenings, the report was mostly the same as the day before. No sign of rebels, wounded healing nicely, the perimeter of the property was secure, other military matters that the Colonel needed to know of. As he drew to the end of his report, the young Loyalist hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Well, Sir, I kept an eye on Miss Mathan as you requested. She had two guards on rotation for the entire day. She spent most of the day in the company of Mr. Collins - the younger brother."

"Another picnic?" The Colonel scowled, his irritation rising.

"Ah, not exactly," Middleton had the grace to blush. It was not pleasant, having to report such to his Colonel, but Miss Mathan was supposed to be his mistress and it was his responsibility to tell Tavington of her infidelity. "When I came across them they were sitting under the large oak, she was sitting in his lap and they were kissing."

A cold spike of jealousy shot through Tavington.

"Really." He murmured quietly, his face cold and hard. "She was sitting in his lap and they were kissing."

"Yes, Sir. I checked on her again later," Middleton paused, and shuffled nervously, picking up on the Colonel's mood. "And they were still there. The guards said the same, Sir. They had not moved for the entire day."

"She was in his lap kissing, for the entire time?" He tilted his head back and gazed down frostily.

"Yes, Sir. They were there for at least five hours."

Breathing deeply and steadily, Tavington leaned in closer to Middleton, pinning him with his cold gaze. "Did she bed him?"

"No, Sir, I do not think so, unless it was there, under the tree. But there were too many people about for such activities - and her guard... I do not believe she bedded him."

"Very well, thank you Middleton."

Tavington strode away, his long legs carrying him to the manor quickly.

Visions of Lyra sitting in the young whelps lap inflamed him.

The visions in his mind shifted, Lyra was now sitting astride the whelp, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she rode Tristan Collins' cock, bucking up and down hard as he stroked into her. She was screaming with pleasure, her fingers dug into Tristan's shoulders as he gripped Lyra's hips, pulling her back down on his length, his face twisted in pleasure. Lyra began screaming, "TRISTAN! TRISTAN! TRISTAN!" Completely uncaring of her guard, of all the farmhands and slaves wandering by. Her hair flew around her as she writhed above the boy, her beautiful face contorted and twisted with the agony of pleasure.

And then he was before Lyra's door. He had no memories of walking through the corridors - he had been outside, and now he was in the hallway outside her bedchamber. Breathing heavily and quickly, short bursts of rage, he reached out to turn the door handle.

Locked.

_Is he in there with her? Would she be so foolhardy? Foolhardy enough to kiss him in the open in front of everyone, she had to have known I would discover this._

He opened the door to the parlor. Again, he had no recollection of striding through the intervening space between Lyra's room and the parlor downstairs. He jerked the door open and Katie and Bradley Collins cowered, they _recoiled_ as he strode in, his face like thunder. They knew, about Lyra and Tristan. They had to have known!

Ignoring Collins and his blood shot eyes, his swollen and bloody nose, he fixed Katie with a piercing stare. His voice was pitched low, false calm. "Lyra's bedchamber key, now."

"Yes, Colonel," Katie said quietly. "I... I will go fetch it now."

He assumed a military pose as he waited. His stance rigid, his eyes locked before him, his back ramrod straight. Katie ran, fetched the key in very short order. Her hand was shaking as she placed it in his palm.

"Very good," Tavington whirled and strode from the room.

This time he remembered every step he took in his haste to get to Lyra's room, to discover her with her lover. He stomped down the hallway, ran up the stairs, made his way to the families quarters, toward the guest rooms. And then he was there again, facing her door.

Without hesitation, he unlocked her door and entered the dimly lit room. The door clicked shut quietly, no one roused from the bed. He locked the door and moved deeper into the room, quietly, until he stood at her bed.

She was alone. A cold flood of relief washed through him, leaving him breathing raggedly in its wake.

Turning over in her sleep, her shift parted down the front, he was afforded the sight of the valley of her breasts.

And nestled in-between something shone, brightly reflecting the candlelight. He leaned closer, two gold chains, one with a large locket - the one she had retrieved from her Stepfather's pockets. He still had no idea why it had been so important to her. The other, a far more delicate gold chain, threaded through a small gold ring.

_A courting gift. He is trying to court her. _He recalled his visions of Lyra and Tristan's frenzied coupling. _No - she is _**_allowing_**_ him to court her, if she would wear his gift so blatantly._

Lifting one knee to the bed, he leaned over her and threaded his fingers through the gold chain, leaving the heavier chain untouched.

_Such a delicate thing. So easy to snap it from her neck._

She stirred. Her arms where above her head and she squirmed and sighed, her green eyes opened, alighting on his. He loomed over her, his face blazing in the sparse light and she gasped with fright.

"William!" She squealed and recoiled, tried to press back into her pillows and disappear. Breathing heavily, the shock of her fright still coursing through her. "Lord! You frightened me to death! What are you doing?!"

He tugged on the chain, and she froze - finally realising he had hold of her precious courting gift.

"Such a lovely necklace," he murmured. "One wonders where you would get such a thing? And a pretty ring, plain - but beautiful. Where, Lyra? Who gave it to you?"

His tone was all the warning she needed. She swallowed hard and the blood drained from her face.

"Please do not break it, William," a breathy whisper.

Tavington raged. With a low growl, he twisted the chain in his fingers and pulled, one quick jerk and the chain snapped, the ring slipped off and landed on her chest between her breasts. Lyra gasped and reached for the ring - her fingers wrapped around her treasure and she sat up to confront him.

"How dare you!" She shouted. "You bedded that woman - Cassie! You've no right to even _be_ here!"

"How dare _you_!" He bellowed - the rumble of his voice vibrated through her body. "You accept a courting gift from another man!"

"It was a gift he had meant to give to me for my eleventh birthday! See - the ring is small, for a little girl! He came across it and gave it to me now, for I was taken away from Charles Town before he had the chance!" She slid the ring on her little finger, the only one small enough to fit it.

"A present for a little girl, is it?" With a one swift movement he shoved her back down to the pillows and climbed on top of her, straddling her chest and pinning her bodily to the bed. Bending his head to her, his nose inches from hers. "And how do you explain sitting in his lap for hours, kissing under the oak tree? Hmmm? I do not believe that is how the two of you played when you were children, is it?"

"No." Lyra pushed back into the pillows, trying to create as much distance between them as she could. Her tone was quiet and deliberate. "That was something _entirely_ new and wonderful."

Tavington snapped. His blazing eyes widened, pushed beyond his limit, he raised his arm and slapped her hard across her face. She cried out as her head snapped to the side, his vivid handprint bright against the pale skin of her cheek.

"Do not provoke me Lyra." He warned, his flaring nostrils, heavy breathing and hissing tone evidence of his barely controlled rage. "Not now."

She kept her face averted and wept quietly.

"You will not hide your face from me, Lyra," his fingers dug into her jaw and he turned her head back, forcing her to face him. "Did you whimper for him while he kissed you?"

She shook her head frantically, fighting to find her voice.

"Did you let him touch you?" A rage filled hiss.

"Get off me, I can't breathe!"

"Five hours! In the arms of another man! Did you think I would not find out? Did you not think of me at all? Have you forgotten all the pleasures I've shown you?"

"Please, get off!" She tried to shove at him and he swatted her hands away, then braced himself above her, leaning on his taut arms.

"I can show you pain as well, Lyra." His tone was thick with threat and danger.

She whimpered and her arms became weak, her fingers clutched at his strong arms. "Please William, stop this you are frightening me."

"Frightening you?" He leaned in close again, nose to nose, their breaths mingling, his eyes pinning her. His face twisted, "you allowed another man to touch you! You are _my_ lover!"

"You let that other woman touch you! How can you be so incensed when you _bedded_ her!"

"An eye for an eye, darling?" He chuckled savagely. "You would bed another man to _punish_ me?"

She lowered her eyes from his, unable to stand the stone-cold gleam any longer.

"If you fucked Tristan Collins, it _would_ be punishment for me, Lyra - do not doubt it. It would be agony, torture. Just the image of you, mounted on the whelp, screaming his name with pleasure was enough to... unhinge me. You will not do that to me," his voice intent and dangerous. "I am not well known for my mercy."

Her face slackened and he felt a tremor pulse through her body, she understood the threat clearly.

"I am not your stepfather. Nothing he has ever done could compare with what I am capable of. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she breathed. "William, I didn't bed him! We only kissed -"

"For five hours!" He shouted, his lips almost touching hers. His voice rang in her ears, she bit her lip and gasped, her fingers convulsed on his arms. "With your childhood friend who, very obviously, wishes to marry you!"

She lost her voice again, could only whimper, his anger was too terrible.

"Do you have an understanding with him? Are you allowing him to court you?"

"I said he may court me," she confessed in a whisper.

"To what end?" He flashed his teeth in a snarl, Lyra feared he would lose himself and bite her. "TO WHAT END!"

"Marriage," she gasped.

"Is that so?" A slow hiss. "So, you would take yourself from me? You would bear a brood of cubs for that young whelp? You are not to be mine - you will leave me completely alone? Will you?"

"I don't know what you want from me!" Lyra shrieked, her voice pierced his ears, ripping through his skull. She gasped and continued in a whisper. "What do you want from me?"

_I don't know... Fuck, I do not know. _With a low growl, Tavington crashed his mouth to hers in his need to reclaim his territory from the whelp.


	21. Chapter 21 - Reclaiming Territory

**Chapter 21 - Reclaiming Territory**

_I don't know... Fuck, I do not know. _With a low growl, Tavington crashed his mouth to hers in his need to reclaim his territory from the whelp.

It was a harsh, bruising, dominating kiss. He sucked at her bottom lip, nipping firmly and Lyra gasped. Her lips parted, he drove his tongue into her mouth, an all out assault as he shifted his body further down hers. She whimpered and dug her fingers into his arms, circled her tongue around his desperately.

He covered her lighter frame with his full weight, pinning her to the bed. Her breathing became labored, she hooked one slim leg over his hips. He thrust his pelvis down to hers, aligning their bodies to blissful perfection, and began to writhe in ever increasing circles against her. She shuddered beneath him and moaned with need.

Tavington's fingers curled into her hair, her whimpers driving him to madness. His tongue plundered her mouth and he groaned as she bucked up wildly beneath him.

Breaking the kiss abruptly he jerked away to kneel above her. He swallowed thickly at the sight before him, her legs splayed around him, her green eyes darkened with desire, her lips, swollen from his bruising kiss, parted slightly. Her hair in wild disarray. Wanton.

It was not enough, he needed more. In a swift violent move, he gripped her shift at the top and tore it open halfway down the front, displaying her bare breasts to him for the first time. His hands gripped the rounded flesh, moulding firmly, his breath short bursts.

He pressed his hips forward again, circling slowly and intimately as he leaned down to catch one nipple in his mouth. He suckled gently and Lyra shivered. She arched her back and keened with pleasure. He maintained the slow pressure of his erection against her quim, his tongue flicking over her nipple as her hands wrapped through his hair. He could feel her heart pounding, pressing his ear to her chest, he could hear the wild thump-thump, thump-thump.

One hand sliding down her stomach, further down until it was between her legs and he groaned with satisfaction - no swaddling, her bleeding had finished. Good, because he wanted to taste her, to suckle her, to prove there was no one else for her but him.

He moved quickly, a trail of hot, searing kisses, under her breasts, over her stomach, mindful of her healing bruises, he moved further, his tongue circled her belly button and her stomach twitched and shivered. He was unbearably hard, his cock ached and strained in the confines of his breeches. Pushing back onto his knees again, he quickly worked at his belt and the buttons, shoving down his breeches and freeing his throbbing length. A quick shuffle and several moments later both his boots and his breeches where sent flying somewhere in the darkness of the room.

Gazing down at her again, their eyes met and locked, he could see the rise and fall of her breasts, hear her ragged breathing. She shuffled her buttocks down the bed, slithering closer to him and parting her legs further in open invitation.

"Not yet, darling," he whispered. He needed relief however, his length already glistened with released seed. Another violent motion and her shift was torn the rest of the way. His breath caught in his throat to finally see what had only been hinted at previously. Her patch of blonde curls, also glistening in the candlelight. "Fuck." His eyes fixed on that patch, lingered before roving further down - seeing her folds and quim for the first time.

Hot with need, feeling every bit the savage, he wrapped his shaking hand around his length, groping and tugging slowly. Lyra gasped and he dragged his eyes from the beautiful sight between her thighs. Her breathing was faster now, the rise and fall of her chest seemed fevered, her lips parted as she watched him pleasure himself.

"Oh, my God, William," she whispered, lifting herself up onto her elbows to watch him better. She reached out her fingers, touching his hand lightly with wonder as he worked himself.

Tavington shot her a lecherous smile, and with his other hand he pushed her back to the bed. Exerting his iron self control he ignored his own need for now, placing both his hands on either side of that patch of curls, at the top of her thighs. Lyra gnawed her lip, breathing heavily with anticipation as his thumbs move in closer, caressing over her folds, parting, revealing her quim entire. Lyra sighed and relaxed beneath him, certain her need for him would now be filled.

"You will never think of him again when I am done with you," he whispered thickly.

"What are you going to do?" She whispered back.

"Make you mine," he pressed his lips lightly to her quim. "Pleasure you into submitting to me." The tip of his tongue circled her and Lyra arched up with a low keen, gripped the sheets in tight fists. Tavington's smile was serene, self satisfied. He suckled her lightly, and she thrashed beneath him with a wanton moan, she thrust her pelvis up against his mouth and he felt the berserker rage consume him. His tongue pillaged her, ravaged her quim, circling, faster, over and around, claiming and dominating.

Two fingers in her entrance and his lover bore down hard and arched her back. Slick with sweat, hot pleasure scouring through her body, he could feel her pulse inside against his fingers and still he continued, scouring her with his tongue.

His cock twitched, heat and seed dripping from him and he flattened himself against the mattress, rocking his pelvis along the soft sheets gently to gain some relief.

"Ohhhhh!" Lyra cooed and wrapped her fingers through his hair, her pulses where quicker now. He continued his assault unceasing right up until her climax was about to wash over her. As soon as he sensed she was on the cusp, when she closed her eyes and began to pant with need, she was close, so close!

Tavington lifted his mouth from her aching quim, drew his fingers from her. All feeling ceased and Lyra's eyes flew open, saw him kneeling above her, gazing down at her with a cruel smile.

"Nooo! Oh, William!" She wailed frantically, lifting herself onto her elbows, her hair wild around her. "Why did you stop?"

Because she needed to learn, he needed to teach her, needed her to desire no one else but him. There was no one else for her! Exerting his iron self control once more, he swallowed hard and breathed deeply, composing his tone before speaking. Christ, she had tasted so good!

"You want more?" He asked coolly, for all the world as though he did not care either way.

"William," she shook her head violently, frantic for release. She reached for him, tried to draw him back down to her, as she lifted her pelvis toward him. "I was so close! Don't stop!"

He took hold of her hand, pushed it away from his neck, still gazing at her with cool detachment. Feigned, of course! He was as desperate as she.

"Tsk tsk, where are your manners?" A whispered taunt. The Colonel commanded, harshly, "ask nicely."

"Oh, please... William, please... You are tormenting me... I need, oh it aches..." She dropped back to the bed, forlorn and lost, but he had no sympathy. He waited for several long moments before lowering his lips to her again, resuming his all out assault.

She was drawing close again, he could feel it. Any moment now she would be at the edge and he would draw away again. He would do it over and over until she was a weeping mess, begging him, pleading, vowing to never let another man touch her. Only him.

She thrust up against him with a long desperate moan, began to pant with need again.

Now. Tavington was just about to draw away again when -

"Honey, please," a desperate whisper. "Don't stop again, oh _honey_, please!"

His eyes widened, shocked to hear the endearment. Hearing the affection name from her lips saved her from more frustration. Tavington did not draw away, instead he became almost tender, massaging her sensually, no longer an all out assault. His fingers delved deeper, tilting up and shifting, finding that pleasure spot that he knew would drive her mad. He was not disappointed. Panting frantically, her heart beating faster than a caught rabbits, she arched her back and cried out as her climax finally crashed through her. He felt her clench around his fingers, and he groaned, rubbing against the mattress harder as she floated on hot waves.

"Oh, Lord... William..." He moved back up her body and stared down at her flushed face. "Honey..."

He groaned with pleasure, hearing the endearment again, and crashed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply.

"Christ, I am aching," a murmured confession against her lips. "Can you taste yourself on me, darling? You are so sweet - so perfect."

She smiled warmly and tilted her head up, inviting more kisses.

"Now, William?" She lifted her pelvis with invitation again and wrapped her legs over his thighs.

"No. Not yet." He edged up, further up her body again, until he sat on her chest. She frowned with confusion.

"What are you doing now?"

"Take my clothes off, Lyra," he commanded thickinch wry much the Colonel. She reached up with shaking fingers, unbuckled the belts around his Redcoat, unbuttoned his jacket. He had her pinned, she could not reach up to push it off his shoulders. Helping her along, he discarded his jacket as she began pulling up his ruffled shirt. That was tossed also. Her fingers traced his chest, moving softly over the dips and falls, gently caressing his stomach. Her eyes where on his member.

She swallowed hard and placed the flat of her palm on his cock and Tavington thrust forward, grinding against her hand, white hot arousal searing through him.

"No." He jerked back, his voice thick and shaky. "Not your hand."

"Honey, please, let me take care of you - I know you are aching!"

"You wish to take of me?" His tone husky now, he gazed down at her lewdly - to see his cock so close to her face. He pressed forward, brushed the dripping bulbous tip against her lips. "Then take care of me, darling."

Lyra blinked up at him, then remembered his words, before they coupled that first time.

_Your mouth on me, now!_

Her eyes met his, he saw her chagrin, she did not know what to do.

"I am not much different to you, little one," he whispered, his tone beguiling now, coaxing. "You know what to do,"

"The same?"

"The same," he nodded and stroked her hair from her face.

She began to lick him, her tongue circling his helmet the same as her fingers had so many times before. Her hand moved along his thighs, up higher to grip his shaft and back down again. He pressed forward with a groan and she licked the length of him, her eyes darting to his for encouragement and approval.

He gulped, his voice would not work, he had to nod his reassurance, and she circled his helmet again, before licking his full length, up and down until Tavington felt he would scream. His seed dripped continually now and he leaned forward to grip the head board.

"Now, Lyra!" He growled harshly, nudging at her lips until they opened. He gulped and began to pant as he slid inside her mouth. He began to whisper instructions, staring down at her all the while, stroking her jaw gently. "Careful of your teeth, little one. Use your tongue, but suck me also. Devour me, little one," he swallowed around the lump in his throat as she begun, obeying his instructions perfectly. "Above all," he managed to utter before his mind closed down completely, "do not stop!"

Lyra nodded around his length, her tongue circling as he rocked his hips back and forth, suckling him gently. Still gripping the head board with one hand, still tracing her face with the other as he gazed down at her.

"More, darling," he managed. "More..."

Lyra met his eyes and increased the pressure of her sucks, her tongue stroking his shaft until Tavington had to fight back his climax, fight back his need to thrash back and forth in her mouth. His fingers dug into the headboard and he grit his teeth, fighting himself back from the edge.

"Perfect, darling, agh... Perfect!" He could not help it, he began to thrust as he whispered his encouragement. Searing heat surged through him.

Her fingers moved up his thighs and around his buttocks, feeling the muscles work as he rocked back and forth. His thrusts became hard and fast, as they did when he was between her legs, and the lewdness of it had her moaning around his erection. Her eyes glazed and she humped her hips up and down, frustrated that there was nothing for her to move against to offer her relief.

"Christ!" Tavington cursed. "Fuck - you are enjoying this. Agh, fuck - Lyra!" He pumped harder, almost at his apex, fire scouring through him as her tongue swiped around his helmet. He reached around his body with one hand to cup her between her legs. She moaned again and thrust up against his palm. "Christ, I don't want this to end!" He jerked back abruptly, pulling free of her mouth with a loud, wet 'pop'. "I need to fuck you Lyra."

"God, I've never seen you like this before," Lyra gasped and reached for him, hooking her arm around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her. He moved down her body as his lips met hers, searing and they groaned.

"You are a hellion," he flicked his tongue over hers, his voice heavy with need. "Sin made flesh."

Lyra whimpered and thrust her pelvis up against his erection.

"Now?" She said hopefully, "Oh, Honey, please... Now?"

"Yes, now. But not like this. Turn around, on your knees." He guided her with his hands until she was in place before him. He had only encountered a few women who truly enjoyed to take a man into their mouths, if Lyra was one of them, perhaps she would like... He gazed at her backside, ran a finger along the length of her and smiled when she shivered. Katie had not enjoyed it, she had only thrust with him for his enjoyment, hoping to seal him to her. He had known it even while he was inside her, and he had taken what he wanted without a care.

But Lyra... Perhaps...

"Open you legs, Lyra," she shuffled and parted her legs. "Further." He commanded as he groped her fleshy buttocks. He moved closer, his knees between her legs. He positioned himself and took hold of his cock, began pressing forward. She jerked away instantly.

"William! No - what are you doing - not there!"

"You may like it, little one." His hand on the small of her back held her still and he continued his advancement. "Stop tensing, relax." She shook her head violently and tried to move forward again but he had her pinned.

"Mmmmnnn," a painful moan, no pleasure in it. "Please, I don't like this - not at all."

"You won't try?" He asked, disappointment etched his tone.

"Please don't make me, William."

"Of course I won't make you!" Irritated that she would think it. He pulled back out of her, only his tip had entered but she gasped with relief. "Perhaps we'll try again someday..." His said, wistful and longing.

"I don't think so." her tone was adament.

"Very well. I trust you will allow me in here?" He nudged lower, guiding his tip to her moist entrance and she pushed against him with enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes..." He could hear the laughter in her voice, and he smiled as he began to push inside her, hovering at her entrance, teasing.

"So hot..." he moaned into the back of her neck, gently biting the flesh there and she moaned, circling her hips and writhing, clutching the sheets with tight fingers. He bent over her body and wound his fingers through hers.

"Now, little one," he whispered, then slammed into her, jerked back, snapped forward again. Lyra keened and met his thrusts, her heart pumping wildly. It drove him mad, her thrusts, her moans, the way she arched her back, and clutched at the sheets beneath his fingers. Her hair falling down on either side of her face, to pool on the bed. Her skin, so soft, he nipped her neck again and she whimpered.

He loved it, all of it, never wanted it to end.

He lifted his lips from her neck, threw his head back as the tension became too much to bear. Gritting his teeth he forced himself to stop, forced himself to cease his thrusts. He had remembered, all of a sudden, that he had wanted her to beg. Wanted her to want no one but him. His cock twitched inside her with the need to climax, but his self restraint, his iron control - far greater than hers, stopped him from giving in.

"Honey! Please! Oh, stop torturing me! Oh, my Lord," she pushed back against him, hard, and it almost proved his undoing. Gripping her hips with a low growl, he held her in place.

He held still, panting, for several long moments until his voice was finally back under his control.

"What do you want, little one?" he asked her, calmly, though his voice was thick with lust.

"Oh, please, I want you to _not stop_!" Lyra wailed, frustrated. She could barely move he held her so tightly, she needed him to thrust, needed to feel him, to be taken to the edge and pushed over into sweet oblivion!

"You want more?"

"Yes!"

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Oh, honey - yes!"

"Say it!" He commanded. "Nice and loud, Lyra, tell me to fuck you, tell me you are mine."

She shivered beneath him, he could feel her clench around him, a great sob of need burst through her and she tried to thrust back but he was too strong.

"Please!" A loud, thick voice burst from her, it soon became a wail of need. "Please, fuck me, honey! Please, more, more! Oh, William, I am yours!"

He smiled with triumph, and whispered against her ear, "I know." And he began to thrust, to pound as Lyra continued to beg, to moan.

"I'm yours, I'm yours!" It became a litany, and it overwhelmed him. He shoved in harder, his hips smacking her buttocks loudly. He felt her clench again and she arched her back with a high keen. She writhed beneath him and strained for more, trying to draw out more...

He slammed into her, white hot sensation burst through him.

"You are mine!" He hissed in her ear, a litany of his own as he came. "Not that whelps! Mine!"

His seed filled her and he dropped against her back, spent, before pulling out and collapsed alongside her with a heavy sigh.

Breathing heavily, Lyra lifted herself to kneel beside him. Her body was slick with sweat, her hair a mess as she stared down at him, considering.

"If I am yours, William," she said finally, reaching up to stroke his hair from his face, "then you are mine."

"Yes, Lyra," he admitted. "I suppose I am."

::::::::::::

_A/N - __Lisette Jenkins! Wow, that was a surprise, thanks for reviewing! I was wondering if you were still reading, I thought I might have lost you ages ago. I hope you are enjoying the re-write!_


	22. Chapter 22 - Tristan's Anger

_Warning - some descriptions of Bordon's rape of Anne Howard - as remembered by Wilkins who had witnessed the event._

**Chapter 22 - Tristan's Anger**

"Tristan will be hurt by this, William. What am I to tell him?" Lyra fretted.

Yesterday it had been all but settled. Tristan would court her. They would take their time but they both _knew_ they would eventually wed. They had _known_ it. But now, Tavington...

He had spun her on her head, yet again. It could not last between them, he would move on to North Carolina eventually, she had heard the Dragoons discussing it. Would Tristan wait for her? She doubted it. It was not right to expect him to, either. To expect him to court her while she shared Tavington's bed, until the Colonel left her. If only her brain and her heart would _bloody_ agree, she would not be having these difficulties!

Tavington shrugged lazily. "That you and I have reached a new understanding?"

He lay back on the pillows, one arm under his head, his other around Lyra's shoulders, fingers caressing her back. She lay curled beside him, her head rested on his chest, one leg hooked over his. Tavington kissed the top of her head and sighed heavily.

"What where you thinking, darling? Kissing another man..." He tossed his head at her folly. "Surely you knew I would be angered?"

"I guess I knew, but I did not care. You certainly did not care how I would feel about you and that maid. As far as I was concerned, it was over between you and I."

"Hmm," a vexed sigh and a derisive snort. "Well, that was your first mistake."

"Are you to take no responsibility?" She lifted her head from his chest and gazed down at him balefully, her green eyes flashing. "I asked you to stay with me. I was in _pain_, William, it would have been nice to have some comfort from you, the man who claims to be my lover!"

"Lyra, I was raised a _gentleman_, not a farmer," he said primly. "A woman's bleeding is woman's business. You have made your point, however. I _am_ your lover and in future I will remain with you, even during your bleeding, and will wait for it to end rather than seek the bed of another."

"If only you had decided that the other night..." She muttered, though she was pleased by his promise.

"I agree. I never make the same mistake twice, however. This will not happen again. In the morning, I will have my belongings bought here to your room."

"You will move in here with me?"

"Why not? I will suffer this pretense no longer - not when the Collins family all know you are my mine."

"Yes, I am..." A quiet murmur, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, wondering exactly how she would break the news to Tristan. "You truly won't bed anyone else?"

"On my honor." His pale eyes were serious, intent. He meant it - it would be no difficulty, being faithful to this lovely creature.

"William," Lyra shuffled around until she was kneeling above him. Her white hair fell about her shoulders in curly waves, covering her breasts. Tavington sighed, she was an angel. A beautiful, naked angel. He gently brushed her hair aside to gaze at her breasts.

"Are you listening to me?"

Too late, he realised she had been speaking, and no - he had not heard a word, so captivated he was by her nudity.

"No, darling, I am sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was saying that we will be leaving here soon."

"Yes. And?" His fingers lightly traced her nipple, coaxing it into a hard peak.

"And our 'understanding' will come to an end."

He jerked his eyes from her breasts, his pale gaze meeting hers intently.

"Will it now." He drawled quietly.

"You know it will, it must. This is all a dream - a very pleasant one. But it was only to last until we reached Charles Town. I will be entering society for the first time in years, and there will be rumours as it is, servants can't help but gossip. I do not want to be the 'talk of the town'. It will make it very difficult for me to find a husband as it is."

Tavington sat up beside her and cupped her face gently, though he could feel his anger burning all over again. "Lyra," he forced his voice to remain calm. "I thought we settled this earlier. You are mine. I am yours. This will not change when we reach Charles Town."

"If you keep me as your mistress, William, I will be shunned."

"So. It was always your intention to end this when we reached the Town?" He tried to smile. It faltered, however, and his nostrils flared as he tried to control his breathing.

Lyra's voice was quiet, uncertain. "Was that not your intention, also?"

Tavington did not respond right away. The silence stretched between them as he warred with himself. It _had_ indeed been his intention, but no longer.

"At the beginning, yes," he held her gaze intently, so young and sweet. He struggled to remain calm, anger would not win her over. Nevertheless, she had to see how it would be between then, she must be made to understand.

"Lyra, do you really wish me to leave you when we reach Charles Town?" He leaned closer, almost brushed his lips along hers. Lyra leaned into the kiss and sighed despairingly when he drew away without touching. "We shall see each other occasionally, perhaps we shall be invited to the same events, a picnic, or a dinner affair. I will see you at the ball, of course. I dare say I will spare a dance or two for you, my _former_ lover... Is that what you want?"

"No, William," her voice caught and she swallowed hard. She gazed at him, her green eyes large and innocent, her expression desperate. "No, I would hate that. To see you and not be with you?" Her eyes welled with tears at the very idea and she collapsed against him, her face burrowing into his neck, her fingers clutching his strong arms. "I would hate it! No, I don't want you to leave me."

"Shh, little one, don't cry." He rocked her gently, kissed her hair and pulled her back down to the pillows where he held her against his chest. He brushed her hair from her face, wiped her tears. Lyra wept for several long minutes before calming herself, her breathing returned to normal, Tavington rocked her all the while.

"Are you alright, darling?" He asked tenderly, stroking his fingers along her face.

She nodded and sighed. "Yes, I am alright. Just very confused," a quiet whisper, she tightened her arms around his chest and nestled her face deeper into the nook under his chin.

"I dare say," he sighed, staring over her head at the flickering flame of a candle in its sconce, rubbing her back absently as he considered their new life together.

It would not hurt his career, Colonel Tavington could keep a mistress of course, other Officers certainly did - higher ranking ones at that. And their mistress's were of far more dubious birth than Lyra. A Loyalist woman, of small fortune but from a distinguished family. Her grandfather was from Tavington's own beloved Liverpool. He would be proud to have her by his side.

In the military world she would be accepted. There were plenty of Officers who desired a position in the Green Dragoons, or who simply wished to court him for his close connection to Cornwallis. They will assume that as his mistress, Lyra would have influence over Tavington, and they would try to use it for their own advancement. They would, therefore, encourage their wives and mistresses to woo Lyra's friendship, become her companion and gain her support. The ruthless Colonel would allow it to happen, and would show favor to those that treated with Lyra well.

It was Charles Town that presented the problem. He would have to be very circumspect, protect her against gossips and ill wishers amongst the wealthy, the aristocrats, until it was time to make their move back to Fort Carolina. She would come with him, of course - there was nothing for her in Charles Town - no family to speak of. A manor, but one she would never herself own even if she did marry and bear children - sons.

Her manor...

Tavington wondered if it was already occupied, Redcoats had taken over almost every residence in the town, Loyalist and Patriot alike. The Loyalists where treated with respect and consideration, of course, while the Patriots where usually forced to live in one room of their home - no matter how large the family might be. Lyra was a Loyalist, however and as such she would be allowed to live in her manor, but she would be surrounded by strangers, Redcoats she did not know.

She had grown confident with him, even with Captain Bordon, Captain Wilkins and Michael Middleton, the latter of which had become the commander of her guard. She was even mostly comfortable with the Dragoons who formed her guard, having spent so much time with them as they healed in the make shift infirmary.

But complete strangers? She still had a wariness about her, he sensed it in her. She would be terrified of living with complete strangers. A protective streak took hold of him, his course of action became clear.

"Darling, how would you like to billet the Green Dragoon Officers in your home when we reach Charles Town?"

She drew away to gaze up at him, perplexed. "Billet?"

"Hmm. It is the answer to our problem, I believe. I could move to your residence, not many will question why we spend so much time together then. It is normal for the families housing Officers to become familiar with each other. They are often in one an-others company."

"You will move in with me."

"Hmm. I will be able to protect you - I still strongly fear retribution from the rebels. And at least you are already familiar with my Officers, you will not know the Redcoats who are currently billeted in your home."

Lyra frowned, aghast. "_Currently_ billeted..? Do you think people are living in my _home_?"

Tavington nodded to himself, her reaction was exactly as he suspected it would be.

"I dare say there will be. Clinton, when he first arrived to Charles Town, had his staff organising accommodations for the Officers before half of us even arrived. Loyalists opened their homes to us, and the Patriots homes where seized. Your home, a large manor by the sound of it, sits empty, under a Trust, waiting for you to come and claim it? I doubt very much it is unoccupied."

"Good Lord - I had no idea! Surely Mrs. Bryant would have told me? She made Arcam escort her to the Santee, he was caretaker of the property."

"Hmm, well, it would make it far more simpler if it was empty, but I seriously doubt it will be. Either way, I will relocate from my current quarters to your home. I have eight other Officers who will remain with me, and we will need to make room for your guard also. You and I will share a room, of course, and Bordon will need a larger room for he will have his wife with him -"

"Bordon's married?"

"You didn't know? Hmm, you really should do more to get to know my men, you are my lover after all."

"I have!" Lyra frowned. "I have visited the wounded every day since we arrived."

"Yes," Tavington smiled warmly and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips. "I know. You are a sweet thing..."

"William, what will people say? The rumors will be bad enough, if you move into my manor, they will be confirmed."

"No," he shook his head. "Most of the people who you refer to, darling, will have officers billeted in their own homes also. No one will think twice, especially when it is discovered you are under direct threat of the Ghost himself. Besides, darling. It will only be for a few weeks. We will need to leave Charles Town again, and will reside in the Fort."

"Oh. You make it sound as though you will take me with you," her slow, hopeful smile warmed him.

"I desire to, if you will allow. There is nothing for you in Charles Town, Lyra. A mere two thousand pounds and a house that will never be yours?" He scoffed. "No, darling. Come with me, you will bring your maid, of course."

"Oh, and Mrs. Bryant perhaps!"

"Perhaps," Tavington said carefully, not wanting to upset her good mood. He doubted very much her British born governess would approve of Lyra's decision to be Tavington's mistress, much less accompany the Colonel and Lyra to the Fort.

"And you will be faithful to me, William?" Lyra asked uncertainly.

"Yes, Lyra. I thought we settled it?" He smiled and kissed her sweetly.

:::::::::::::::::::

Wilkins glanced at the others sitting around the breakfast table, a perplexed expression on his handsome face. He understood why Bordon was so withdrawn, the man was still struggling to come to grips with what he had done to little Anne Howard. He liked Bordon well enough, but the man was very stiff, very British. Wilkins himself had honor, of course, but Bordon had a much stricter sense of right and wrong.

Captain Stephen Bordon had shocked the entire unit of Dragoons when he lost his temper with Miss Howard and grabbed her by the arm, dragged her around the side of Pembroke church where he threw her to the ground and lifted her skirts. Mr. Howard was screaming, trying to protect his daughter but the outer ring of Dragoons had closed ranks, forming an impenetrable wall while Bordon raged behind them, and Anne's Patriot father could not get past.

Wilkins felt himself hardening right there are the breakfast table. Memories of rape did not arouse him usually, he was not a cruel man, but their blood had been hot that day, all of the Dragoons were on edge after the skirmish with Martin's militia. Even Tavington had had a gleam in his eye as he shot glances at Bordon rutting the wench. Wilkins had wondered if his Commander would take a turn, but his iron control had stopped him and he had prevented the others from taking part.

Bordon, however...

Wilkins shook his head. Although most of the Dragoons had had their backs turned, James had seen it all. The man had kneeled between Miss Howard's legs, screaming curses while ripping at his breeches, dragging them down as much as was needed to free his member. Anne slapped him, hard, and Bordon gripped her arms, shoving them to the ground above her head before crashing his hips forward. He writhed around, feeling for her entrance, Wilkins knew.

The Colonial Captain had been waiting for the adjutant to come to his senses, to apologise and get off Anne, but he did not.

He had destroyed the girl's virtue with a harsh grunt, holding still for timeless moments before thrashing his hips up and down, up and down, a frenzy of violence, groaning and panting all the while. For once in her life, Anne had been silenced. She had a tongue on her, that one! Captain Wilkins wondered if she would show more care in how she used it in future.

She turned her face to the side, Wilkins saw her grimace of pain and fury, but no tears - a strong wench, to be sure. She would make a good soldiers wife, but of course Wilkins himself would not consider her, not now, ruined as she was. Gabriel Martin could have her. Bordon had buried his face in the nook of Anne's neck, his arms still holding hers down, his breath short quick bursts. With a long low groan he finally held still and panted as he climaxed.

Bordon had stared down at the girl, mortified, tortured. He began apologising almost immediately, before he even drawn his length from her. When he released her arms and she slapped him, he took it. Even while kneeling before her and doing up his breeches, he took her slaps and whispered his apology. Wilkins had winced, those slaps must have _bloody_ hurt!

Eventually Tavington came forward and seized the girl by one wrist, yanked her to her feet and back handed her with enough force that she fell to the ground again.

"Enough! Be thankful I do not unleash the rest of my men on you, Miss," he towered over her, his eyes cold and evil, and finally Anne cowered away. The Butcher of the Colonies had that affect on people.

Of course, Wilkins was glad now, that Tavington had stopped any more Dragoons from taking part - the Howard family were prominent after all. Not part of the aristocracy, with no ties to England, but of middling wealth all the same. At the time however, the Colonial Captain had been very disappointed. It was alright for the Colonel, he had beautiful Lyra to return to, while James Wilkins had to make do with doxies.

He eyed Lyra now, covertly of course. Tavington was a jealous and possessive bastard and James did not want to be seen showing too much interest in the Colonel's lover. She stared at her plate, pushed her food around with her fork, but had barely eaten a morsel. Her lover leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and Lyra shook her head.

Tavington's gaze returned to Tristan Collins, who was eyeing the Colonel with interest. The two men had not taken their eyes off one another since they entered the dining hall! The tension was palpable, it was only a matter of time before it came to blows, Wilkins suspected.

And then there was Mr. Collins - James stifled a chuckle. The man's nose was swollen and black, even his eyes where purple and bruised. He nursed his side, a broken rib perhaps? The Captain snorted. What was the man thinking, trying to rape Tavington's lover. Of course the Colonel had not told any one to keep away from Lyra, had not announced that they were bedding one another, but only an idiot would miss it. Then again, Collins never had been the sharpest of fellows and he usually had his head buried in a brandy or whiskey.

Mrs. Collins was unusually quiet also, staring at her plate the same as Lyra. The Collins family where, most likely, counting down the days until the Dragoons left their residence, Wilkins thought with a smirk.

"Is that a fresh bruise?"

Everyone startled, Tristan's hiss broke the silence. Wilkins gazed at Lyra again and sure enough, along her jaw was indeed a small dark blemish amidst the yellow, healing bruises. As though someone had gripped her jaw with tight fingers. Tavington, he was certain. Obviously they had quarreled over Lyra's day spent in Tristan's arms - the entire troop of Dragoons knew about it by now.

The tension increased steadily, Tavington's sneering scowl shifted to one of readiness as Tristan rose from his chair and leaned on his arms across the table to study Lyra, who recoiled and shot a nervous glance back and forth between the two of them.

"It is," Tristan said with a vicious glare at Tavington. "You hurt her!"

"Tristan, sit down," Mr. Collins voice was shaky.

"You bastard!" Tristan's voice rose with outrage. "How dare you? If you have a problem with my friendship with Lyra, you take it up with me, not a defenseless woman! Where is your honor!"

Lyra began to breath heavily, her eyes open wide - she glanced at Wilkins, her eyes imploring. He shrugged, there was nothing he could do about it - even if he wanted to. Lord, what had the girl been thinking, to sit on Tristan's lap, kissing for hours, for all the world to see?

Her gaze shifted to Bordon who shook his head imperceptibly.

"Young man," Tavington's drawl was soft and dangerous. He drank a sip of tea, placed the delicate cup on the saucer with barely a clink. "Take your brother's advice, and _sit - down_."

James turned his gaze back to Tristan, expecting the boy to back down. Any second now he would take a deep breath, look embarrassed and sit down again, he would do as he was told. They always do, under Tavington's hard stare. Wilkins himself certainly had.

Shockingly, the boy lifted his head and stared down his nose at the Colonel, his lips tight, his eyes narrowed. Steel entered the boys spine - he was made of sterner stuff than his brother, James gave him that!

"No, Sir. Miss Mathan is supposed to be under your protection!"

Tavington's lips tightened, his face turned to stone.

"Yesterday afternoon, Miss Mathan gave me her permission to court her, with the idea of that we may eventually be wed -"

"Fascinating," Tavington shook his head slightly and shot a sharp glance at Lyra. He was not surprised, however, Wilkins suspected the Colonel already knew of it.

"- And as a prospective husband I must protest, most strongly, at your ill treatment of my future wife!"

"I see," the Colonel eyed the youth up and down, his cold eyes contemptuous. "You have a plan, I take it? A suggestion that will allow you to demonstrate your _'strong protest'_ to your satisfaction?"

"I do," Tristan's strong voice rang in the small room. "A duel, Sir. A contest by arms - by weapon of your choice."

Stunned silence - then Tavington smiled a small, secretive smile.

"No... Please - don't do this!" A woman wailed.

Lyra, of course. Wilkins shook his head at her folly, it was already done. No backing out now - both men had a reputation to maintain. Their honor was at stake now, neither would allow themselves to be called coward.

"A duel," Tavington stretched, as lithe as a cat, and placed his arm on the back of Lyra's chair, his fingers caressing her long neck possessively. "I choose the weapon? Very well, you may choose the time, and place."

Tristan bristled to see the Colonel touch his 'future wife'. "Under the oak tree," he leaned forward again, his lips quirked in a taunting smile, "where Lyra and I wiled away a _most_ enjoyable afternoon."

Wilkins whistled under his breath.

The Colonel tensed, his face twisted into an ugly snarl. "When?" He said harshly, obviously hoping the lad would choose that very moment.

"No time like the present, Colonel."

"I quite agree." He rose from his seat, ignoring Lyra as she clutched at him, ignored her pleas for this to stop. Both men ignored her, intent only on each other.

"Conditions," Bordon said firmly, speaking for the first time since they sat to breakfast. "Let me make it clear to both of you, Cornwallis will be less than pleased about this. Colonel Tavington, must I remind you of your rank? Mr. Collins, must I remind you of your Loyalty? This is against my better judgement, furthermore, it is against the Kings Law which the two of you are supposed to uphold! As Tavington's adjutant, I demand that if you must persist in this folly, _THERE - WILL - BE - CONDITIONS!"_

"State them." Tavington said coldly, though by his vexed expression, he clearly knew what his Captain was about to 'demand'.

"You will _not_ shoot to kill. I assume you will be choosing your pistol?"

Tavington nodded curtly. "Accidents happen, Bordon," his smile was taunting.

"You will make certain it does not happen, though, won't you?" Bordon said firmly and continued after a deliberate and _very_ disrespectful pause. "_Sir_."

Wilkins eyes widened, he had never seen Bordon stand up to Tavington this way before. They disagreed, usually in hushed whispers and sometimes the Colonel took his adjutant's advice, but this bordered insubordination.

"Very well. Anything else?"

"No maiming -"

"For Christ's sake!" The Colonel's temper flared. "It is a _duel_, Bordon! At twenty paces, how are either of us to aim not to kill, much less not to maim?"

"Aim low." Bordon's eyes glittered. "_Sir_."

:::::

_A/N - woo hoo! A duel! I have wanted to write a scene involving a duel ever since I came across the one fought between Vice President Aaron Burr and Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton. Insanity, these two were very prominent people!_

_Lisette - I am glad you are enjoying the re-write. Your comments in the past have helped to learn and grow, its much appreciated! :-)_


	23. Chapter 23 - The Duel

**Chapter 23 - The Duel**

"For Christ's sake!" The Colonel's temper flared. "It is a _duel_, Bordon! At twenty paces, how are either of us to aim not to _kill_, much less not to maim?"

"Aim low." Bordon's eyes glittered. "_Sir_."

The two held a glare, then Tavington pushed back from the table. "Very well," he repeated. "I choose Captain Stephen Bordon as my second."

Tristan glanced around the room, looked at his brother and curled his lip. He would not choose Mr. Collins, who had tried to rape Lyra, and was such a coward. Even now, the man hunched in his seat, fearful that Tristan would, indeed, choose him.

"I choose Captain James Wilkins as my second."

Wilkins had expected it, there was no one else, after all, and he had known the boy a long time. He laughed and rose from the table. "Why not?" Another chuckle.

"Shall we?" Tavington, crisp and business like, began to stride from the parlor, Tristan hot on his heels.

"Please," a mournful whisper from Lyra. "No... Oh, Captain, stop them."

Wilkins watched as Bordon approached Tavington's distraught lover, he took her gently by the arm and helped her to walk. They all made their way outside, Mrs. Collins clutched her husband's arm, seemingly as distraught as Lyra. Of course, she was Tavington's former lover and had no desire to see her brother in law kill the Colonel.

Word spread like wildfire. Before the group even made it to the oak tree, Dragoons and servants, even slaves, were lining up to watch the spectacle. Bordon let go of Lyra's arm and made his way to Tavington, while Wilkins stood beside Tristan.

"Twenty paces," Bordon snapped. "No killing, and try not to maim. We have a bloody war to win, after all!"

The duelers took up positions, their backs to one another, then began to walk ten measured paces away from each other - making up the twenty step gap. Lyra's legs gave way, she sat heavily in the dirt, heedless of her silk skirts. Mrs. Collins was still clutching her husband, her eyes wide with fear.

Ten paces each, and the two men turned to face one another, both bore equally implacable expressions. They would not shoot to kill, but as Tavington said, accidents happened. And even if they did not kill, there would be pain. A lot of it - it was not enjoyable, being shot. For the two of them to look down the barrel of a loaded pistol and not flinch - that was the true purpose of this duel. A show of bravery. With all the witnesses, neither could show weakness, their honor was at stake.

"Mr. Collins!" Bordon called as he stepped a safe distance from Tavington. "You suggested the duel, you have first shot."

Tristan tightened his lips. Pulling his pistol, he began loading it, taking his time, drawing out the moment. Finally it was ready to be fired and he took on a firm stance, back straight, boots planted firmly in the dirt. He took aim and Lyra wailed, covering her hands to her ears. She did not close her eyes, however - she would stand witness, as one of the men she cared for possibly died before her.

Tristan took several deep, steadying breaths to ready himself, and aimed low, at Tavington's thigh. It was not as easy as he thought it would be, to deliberately site ones pistol toward another person with the intention of shooting. The Colonel held still, his eyes ice, his back ram rod straight. He purposefully kept his hands behind his back, presenting the barrel of his chest. No one would doubt his courage, or his honor.

Tristan suffered a moment of doubt. What if he missed? Was he about to kill another man, a man the Loyalists hailed as a hero to their cause? One of the Kings own? It was too late, he would not back down, not now. The boy hardened his resolve, and squeezed the trigger.

The explosive clap echoed off the trees, fire flared around the pistol and Tavington hissed with pain, blood spurting from the wound in his thigh, Wilkins was amazed at the man's control, to keep his feet, to not fall to the ground. Lyra cried out and ran to him. He took several deep breaths against the pain, his icy expression shifted to bloodlust.

Never taking his murderous eyes off Tristan, he spoke quietly to Lyra, fending her off. Wilkins could not hear what was said, but Bordon came forward to help the distraught girl back out of harms way.

And then Tavington took hold of his already loaded pistol in a firm, deliberate grip. Tristan drew a deep breath and clenched his jaw, but he kept his eyes steadily on Tavington as the Colonel raised his arm and aimed his pistol. The lad did not flinch, he raised his head high and stared the Colonel down.

Another explosive clap echoed off the trees, and Tristan - having never known the pain of a bullet before, bellowed loudly with shock, falling instantly to the ground. Lyra screamed again, and was at Tristan's side instantly.

"Oh, Tristan, you stupid man - why... Oh, Lord, no - don't try to stand, oh Trist!" She was smoothing his hair and her hands moved to the wound on his thigh, gently prying apart the boys ripped breeches to see the damage within.

Tristan, having felt shamed for falling, did his best to hold back tears of humiliation and pain. He gasped, however, loud rasping gasps.

"You did well, boy," a cold voice drawled above them. Tavington chose to ignore Lyra's hands smoothing the lad's hair. "Better than I expected."

"How can you walk?" Tristan blurted between gasps.

The Colonel smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "I've been shot more times than I care to admit. So, what have we accomplished, hmm? What have we solved?"

"Yes!" Lyra snapped, suddenly furious. "What have you solved! You bloody _idiots_!" Her voice rose several octaves in pitch and volume. "Nothing! This solves _nothing_! You could have killed each other! Are there not enough men dying right now? Not enough blood for you!"

She was screaming by the end, alternating her glittering glares equally between Tristan and Tavington.

"Yes," Tavington repeated his question in his quiet drawl. "What has this solved? Will you end your pursuit of Miss Mathan?"

"I will not." Tristan's voice was firm and he began to rise to his feet - irked that Tavington could stand, much less walk, unaided. He would not show this man weakness. Once he was standing, favoring his wounded leg, he continued, "I can see she feels for you, but she does for me also. You offer her no future. Nothing beyond the moment. You will leave Charles Town, move on to North Carolina when the army does - and what happens to her then? Will you, Sir, withdraw _your_ courtship of her?" Tristan's lips twisted and he sneered. Tavington had made no attempt to _court_ Lyra, he had made her is lover and was trying to posses her utterly.

The Colonel's face had darkened with every word.

"I will not. Lyra is mine. This duel alters nothing."

Tristan shrugged. "It satisfied me."

"Me also," Tavington's smile finally reached his eyes and his expression changed to one of grudging respect. "Boy, how would you like to join the Green Dragoons?"

Tristan was utterly stunned. "You are offering me a place amongst the Green Dragoons." He swayed with pain but held steady.

"I am. You have shown backbone, boy. Steel - we need men like you and you are old enough. You would be placed under Captain Wilkins, serve with men you already know."

"The Green Dragoons..." Tristan whispered, then his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You will treat with me fairly? We just fought a duel."

"The duel, boy, and your conduct through out, is what made me decide to offer you a place."

"But... I fell..."

"Christ, we all fall the first time we are shot," Captain Bordon scoffed.

"The pain of my first shot was so bad I nearly soiled myself," Michael Middleton confided.

"I got shot in the ass, couldn't sit for weeks," Arthur Middleton quipped. "I howled like a banshee."

"I think I passed out, I'm not sure," Wilkins said. It was not true, he did not pass out, but Tristan's pride needed soothing and the boy had just been initiated into his own unit. "What of you, Sir? Your first time shot?"

"I will never tell," Tavington smirked. "Boy - make your choice. One of my primary tasks is to recruit men to the militia, the Green Dragoons being the most elite of the British army. Do you wish to wear the Red and Green, or not?"

"I do..." Tristan breathed. "But what of..." He glanced at Lyra, who had risen to her feet and stood watching the men with her arms folded over her chest, bright blotches of red suffused her cheeks.

"She is mine, boy, and will remain so. We are at war, do you wish to continue this fight over a woman, or will you fight for King and Country?"

"Of course I will fight for the Crown!" Tristan stiffened, sensing an insult to his pride.

"Then welcome to the Green Dragoons."

Lyra, face blotched red with fury, turned her back on them and stormed away.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Doctor Johnson will be here soon, Sir," Bordon said quietly. Tavington nodded curtly, and his Captain turned to leave.

"Laudanum," Katie explained as she stirred a few drops of the powerful painkiller into a glass of wine. The Colonel ignored the glass for now - he would take it before the doctor began digging in his leg for the bullet. She dropped some more into a second glass and handed it to Tristan.

"No, if he doesn't need it, I don't either," Tristan muttered sullenly and Tavington barked a laugh.

Lyra whirled to face them both, she had been standing at the window - her stance rigid with fury.

"You will both _bloody_ drink it if I have to pour it down your gullets myself!" She snapped. "A duel. Of all the ridiculous..." She shook her head and began pacing. With a hint of a smile, Tavington leaned back on the cot and pillowed his head on his arms as he watched her rage.

"I think it is romantic," Katie murmured, her eyes were hooded and she stroked the Colonel's thigh idly without seeming to realise what she was doing. Lyra's eyes widened at the display. "To have two men fight over you, try to kill one another..." The married woman's voice was dreamy.

"Well, that can be arranged easily," Lyra hissed and stalked forward, swatting the other woman's hand away from her lover's leg. Katie shot her a startled glance but one look at Lyra's murderous frown and the other woman blushed and lowered her eyes. "Just tell your husband how you coupled with William last time he was here - and you may see two men try to kill each other over you yet!"

"What?" Tristan sat bolt upright, then winced with pain. "You had an affair, behind my brother's back!"

Katie cast panic stricken looks back and forth between them all, her eyes wide with terror.

"Vixen," Tavington chuckled, eyes still locked on Lyra. "I doubt Mr. Collins would offer a duel, darling. He lacks the backbone."

"How can you laugh?" Tristan snapped at the Colonel. "You cuckolded my brother! My brother's wife is an adulteress! He will divorce you when he hears of this!" The last was snarled at Katie, who cowered with fear.

"Mrs. Collins, leave us now," Tavington commanded, and the woman fled the sickroom. He turned to the young man. "Boy, you are a Green Dragoon now. Dragoons do not spread Dragoon business, we trust each other utterly. Bradley Collins is your brother, I know, but if your Loyalty is being tested now, do try to remember he wished to _rape_ Lyra."

Tristan thought the Colonel's words through. "Then I am meant to allow my brother to remain ignorant of his wife's adultery?"

"Not at all, tell him what you will. Just do not mention _my_ name," the Colonel shrugged, uncaring.

"We trust each other utterly?" Tristan challenged. "Tell me truthfully, then. Did you offer me a place, to keep me away from Lyra when you are out scouting?"

"Not at all. I trust Lyra implicitly, also. Don't I, darling?" His eyes, now cold and intent, settled on his lover again. She read the threat there, the menace, but she just shook her head and threw her arms up.

"I am so pleased the two of you are getting along so very well." She began to pace again.

"I chose you, boy," Tavington addressed Tristan while watching Lyra. "For the reasons I have already stated. You have shown bravery, you are Loyal, a _bloody_ good shot - by the way. Unless you were aiming for my chest?" He arched an eyebrow.

"No, I shoot where I aim."

"Good. So do I," in case the boy thought Tavington had meant to kill him. "Another very good reason to have you in the Green Dragoons, boy, is because Lyra is in danger, and I will not always be there to protect her. Your challenge at breakfast this morning assured me that there is another person I can rely on to protect her when the need arises."

"So, he has me to be grateful to, for becoming a Green Dragoon?" Lyra's voice was sweet - too sweet. "You should say thank you then, Tristan. It is only polite. Now drink the damned laudanum, both of you."

"Very well," Tavington went first, deliberately drinking the entire glass of wine until it was all gone. "Bottoms up, Corporal."

"Corporal?" Tristan breathed. "I am a Corporal?"

"Yes. Now drink up."

Wide eyed and fair bursting with pride, Tristan drank his laudanum. The two men slipped into a haze, and Lyra watched over them both.

:::::::::::::

"Christ," Tavington muttered. A film of sweat coated his brow and nausea writhed his stomach. He had already been sick, only moments earlier Lyra had held his hair back, her face concerned as she held a pan to catch his vomit. He collapsed back against the pillows and Lyra moved away, handed the pan to a servant and returned quickly with a clean pan in case he was sick again.

She sat beside him and stroked his hair, as Doctor Johnson hovered over him, poking and prodding at the wound on Tavington's thigh.

He felt like... Utter shit. Breathing raggedly, he turned his head toward Lyra, who leaned down to kiss his brow, heedless of the sweat.

"Colonel, your fever is raging, your wound is infected," the doctor began to apply a plaster over Tavington's wound, where he had dug out the bullet only the day before.

"What can you do, surely you have some relief for him?" Lyra asked with mounting fear. "He won't die of it, will he?"

"No," the doctor rushed to reassure her. "Give him the brew I have concocted for him - it has willow bark and yarrow amongst other herbs to put him in a deep sleep, though some of the herbs may induce dreams that could cause him to behave a little strangely when he wakes. It is necessary he drink it, however, for it will help bring his fever down. I am certain it will pass in a day or so."

"I will not drink some bloody concoction that will leave me wrapped in some phantasm. I need my wits about me in case we are attacked -"

"William, be reasonable, honey. If we are attacked you are in no condition to fight, in any case. Drink the herbs, they will help you get better sooner."

"Yes, you will be back on your feet in no time, Sir, if you do as I tell you," Doctor Johnson said firmly.

"And if he isn't?" Bordon asked. "We have been recalled to Charles Town and must leave immediately."

"Captain!" Lyra protested. "We can not move him, he needs to rest - regardless of Lord Cornwallis' summons!"

Bordon turned to Doctor Johnson. "Do you think the journey to Charles Town will do the Colonel harm?"

"If you move him now, certainly. I will return in the morning, then again tomorrow evening. I will tell you my opinion then."

"We will leave in two days, regardless," Tavington said firmly.

"Honey -"

"Do not '_honey_' me, Lyra. Not now. Bordon, make the preparations. Cornwallis has summoned me and I will not keep him waiting."

"Yes, Sir."

"You have the command," the Colonel muttered, feeling too weak to give instructions. Bordon knew what to do, in any case.

The Captain nodded again, as Doctor Johnson gave the herbal concoction to Lyra.

"I have added some laudanum as well - he will sleep like a babe. Just be wary of his behavior when he wakes, make certain he remains in bed."

"Yes, Sir, thank you."

"As I said, I will return in the morning," he nodded farewell, collected his medical bag and left the room.

"_Now_, you may 'honey' me," Tavington said quietly. Lyra scowled and resumed her stroking of his hair. The Colonel sighed and shuffled closer to her, allowing her to comfort him. He took a few sips of the awful tasting brew and fell into blissful oblivion.

"How could this happen Captain?" Lyra asked in a small voice. "He is so strong."

"That he is, but we are only flesh and blood. Still, never fear - he will recover quickly. He was far more ill when he contracted Yellow fever two years ago."

Lyra gasped. "He had Yellow fever?"

"And no sweet Miss Mathan to take care of him," Bordon smiled warmly. "I will leave him to your tender ministrations, but I will not go far. Send a servant if you need me."

"No - don't leave! I've never cared for someone before! Not on my own... I don't know what to do!"

"Well, there is not much to it. When he rouses, call me and I will help you see to his needs. I will show you how to feed him also, if he will eat. Water is more important right now. Miss, just sit with him, that's all you can do."

"It's horrible, I don't like to see him like this. Lord, if the rebels came darting in here this very moment - if Benjamin Martin does come -"

"Then Colonel Tavington would die. That is not going to happen, Miss Mathan - not with two hundred Dragoons here."

"Why have you been recalled to Charles Town? Surely Cornwallis knew the Dragoons would be returning soon - why the urgent summons?"

"I am not sure, the message was not specific. But a command from Cornwallis can not be ignored," Bordon paused, then gazed at her with suspicion. "Wait, oh... You clever little thing. Nice try. No - I am leaving now, you will not trick me into staying any longer."

Lyra sighed and gazed down at Tavington with her heart in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm just so worried for him."

"As am I, but I do have duties to be about - I am his second, remember? I promise I will stick my nose in often and will not go far."

"Very well."

Bordon shut the door quietly behind him and Lyra, not knowing what else to do, sat against the pillows on the bed they shared, and pulled her lover's head against her breast. He gave a fretful, sleepy moan, but slipped back into his deep sleep.

As promised, Bordon stuck his nose in to check on Tavington, but hours went by before he began to rouse again.

Servants came into the room to light candles, one bore Lyra a tray loaded with food, and broth for Tavington. She picked at it, then relieved herself in the small closet adjacent to her room, before returning to the bed and again taking him into her arms. She pushed his lank hair out of his eyes, wiped a cool, wet cloth over his sweaty brow.


	24. Chapter 24 - Fever Dream

**Chapter 24 - Fever Dreams**

"His fever has not broken yet," Bordon said with concern. "But it is not as bad as it was, I think."

"No, you are only trying to make me feel better - he is unchanged, Captain."

Bordon sighed, she was quite right, of course, and the Captain was beginning to worry.

"I wonder why he has slept so well, then? He seems at rest, even if he is hot to the touch."

"The doctor gave him those herbs," Lyra reminded him. "They are making him sleep."

"Not for much longer, I am thinking. He is responsive, look," Bordon pinched Tavington's arm firmly but not painfully. The Colonel's breathing changed and he frowned in his sleep. "See? He will be awake soon, another hour, I imagine. We will be able to judge his condition, then. Can I get you anything?"

"No, but if you could close the window? It is getting cold too quickly and I do not want him to catch a chill."

"And you said you don't know how to care for him," Bordon scoffed and shut the window before striding from the room once more.

Lyra heard the pitter patter of rain against the window. It had been dark with black clouds since midday, and finally the promised storm was about to break. In a very short time, the pitter patter became a thrash against the window, loud enough to wake the dead, but not to wake Colonel Tavington.

She enjoyed storms - if she was tucked up safe and warm inside, of course. And if Smith was off hunting. She would lay in her bed and listen to the thunder break over the little farmhouse, she and Sally would watch from the window as lightening lit up the sky.

Bordon had left the heavy drapes open, and that suited Lyra just fine. She shuffled on the bed until she was able to watched the storm while still holding Tavington against her. There was a certain feel in the air, a charge and as expected it was not long until the night lit up with a bright flash. A mere second later thunder crashed overhead, Lyra was a little shaken by the proximity of it - it seemed directly above the house.

_Those poor Dragoons, in such flimsy tents outside - must not be pleasant for them._

Tavington began to rouse, finally. Lightening lit the night sky again and another crash of thunder above - even closer now if that was possible, a great rumble that sounded like many canons being fired at once. And with a shout Tavington lurched up, away from Lyra, jumping quickly from the bed. Wearing not a stitch of clothing, except for the bandage around his thigh, his sculptured body was taut and tense.

"Get down!" He shouted at her, as he searched in a frenzy for his weapons, his pistol and sword. He seemed half dazed, half berserk.

"William!" Lyra stood up and crossed the room to him. Must be the herbs... The doctor had warned her.

"I said get down!" He pushed her to the floor and stood over her, his pale eyes crazed.

"William! We are not under attack!" She rose to her feet and dusted her shift indignantly. "It is a storm!"

Face set and ready for battle, Tavington strode to the windows and stared out into the night. He had not come to himself, he was still raving - the memories of Camden and Waxhaws and other battles washing over him.

"Six canons, at least," he ranted. "I only have two hundred Dragoons - should have bought the Legion!"

Just as Lyra was contemplating fetching Bordon, Tavington seized her by the arms and snapped her close to him. He searched her eyes and with a sinking feeling she knew he did not _see_ her, did not know her. Fear and dread began to inch up her spine.

"Scream all you wish, little rebel. Screaming is better in fact. Let him hear your howls. He will come for you then," Tavington's face twisted in a nasty scowl, a slow smile crept across his face.

"Bordon!" Lyra tried to yell, but fear made her voice a whisper.

"Bordon!" Tavington hissed. Enraged, he raised his arm and he slapped her. Lyra cried out and twisted as far as his hold on her would allow. "Bordon is _my_ Captain, he will not help _you_ Mrs. Selton!"

He gave _Mrs. Charlotte Selton_ a rough shake, the woman was weeping with terror - he relished it, loved it - he held within his grasp the Ghost's lover! He smiled cruelly. "I am going to fuck you, Mrs. Selton. I am going to leave my bastard growing in your belly. Unless you tell me where the children are!"

Gasping, tears streaming down her face, Lyra twisted and tried to pull away. Tavington drew her closer, his fingers gripped her chin and pushed her head back to reveal her long, soft neck. The Colonel leaned forward and traced gentle kisses along her skin.

_Does he know me now? _Lyra hoped desperately. No. His hold on her arm was painful, and he held her chin so very hard. But he kissed so gently, making his way up to her ear.

"Do you like that, rebel whore?" He asked in a soft, sweet, caressing voice. "Or would you prefer Charlotte? Which should I whisper when I come inside you?"

"Please, William, don't you know me? You are hurting me and -"

"I will hurt you a damn sight more if you don't tell me where those children are!" His gaze was piercing but edged with madness. "Do not be brave, Mrs. Selton, I am not well known for my mercy."

"Lyra Mathan," she said firmly.

Something stirred in his eyes, his pupils dilated, he stared at her and she took a deep, relieved breath.

Then his face twisted with rage.

"You dare use her against me?" He screamed and threw her sharply to the floor. Lyra pushed away, tried to crawl and rise but his weight was suddenly on her, his closed fist crashed toward her. A small scream and she twisted, his fist rebounded off the carpet. Lyra gasped and tried to crawl away from her deranged, enraged lover.

He gripped her foot with a malicious laugh and dragged her back.

"Please William, stop this!"

"Tell me where the children are and it will stop! Or perhaps I will fuck you anyway, my cock is aching! But I will be gentle, if you tell me what I wish to know," he smiled savagely. "And you will enjoy it. Next time you spread your legs for Martin, you will think of me."

His member was indeed swollen and heavy - angry. To feel it inside her bought her such joy, but now it was a weapon to be used against the enemy he thought her to be. She imagined leaning forward and taking him into her mouth, surely he would know her then? But what if he did not, what if he raped her... He would not be gentle, if he thought her a rebel.

_Lord, please tell me he did not rape Mrs. Selton_, the thought twisted her stomach and she felt bile rising. _How can I stop this? _

:::::::::::::::::::

Ice coursed through his veins as Tavington stared down at Charlotte, unaffected by her tears.

A small voice far back in the recesses of his mind whispered that it had not happened this way. He had seduced Charlotte, she had yelled his name, begged that he kiss her. But the whisper was lost in the screaming torrent, the rage that had consumed him.

That Mrs. Selton would threaten Lyra - try to use her against him... Fear for his lover drove him into a berserkers fury.

"Where is she!" He gripped the front of her shift...

Her shift - was she not wearing dresses a moment ago? He remembered, coming to her plantation, searching for Martin's children. Wilkins had informed him they had found Charlotte, she was waiting for him in the parlor. He entered and eyed her up and down, enjoying her beauty and her fear. She had been fully clothed, in a bodice and skirts. He had spoken with her politely, even while delivering his ultimatum, that soon had them both in the throws of pleasure, with Charlotte crying out his name, begging for more.

With a toss of his head, his confusion was dispelled and he pulled Charlotte closer. "Has Martin taken her? Why else would you threaten me with her? _Tell me where she is_!"

A hard shake and the woman began to cry in earnest. Great sobs ripped through her and she begged quietly, listlessly.

"William, do you not know me? Please, honey - stop this, it is the herbs, you are not in your right mind!"

He hesitated again and frowned. For an instant her blue eyes flashed green, her blonde hair seemed suddenly whiter. Leaning closer he stared at her intently. So white, those pinned curls... Something stirred in him, he had felt it before as well.

_Lyra?_

"William -"

His vision sharpened once more and he smiled cruelly.

"Yes, William. You will howl it, and beg me for more. Unless you tell me where Lyra is!" Another shake, hard enough to rattle her teeth.

"I'm here, please, honey -" Charlotte's hands wrapped around the arm that gripped her shift, though she could not get a firm hold, her strength had left her.

Very good - she will be willing to talk soon. Impatience flared over his face, he would bait her, she would talk then.

"Margaret Martin," he smiled lewdly. "Only thirteen, isn't she? A nice virgin. Is she out there, Mrs. Selton? For I would rather enter a nice tight virgin than an old, used widow."

It was not true, of course. Charlotte Selton was beautiful, Tavington's erection pulsed and throbbed with the need to be inside her, to draw out a climax from her. It would be his greatest victory - to have the Ghost's mistress howl and writhe beneath him, screaming his name, begging for more. His intention had been to seduce her, and he would still take her, but for now he had to learn where Lyra was being held. "I swear, Mrs. Selton, if Martin has caused her even the slightest harm - I will kill him. And you. And everyone he loves. I will hunt them down like dogs, and gut them. Tell me where she is!"

He threw her to the floor, she landed with a thud.

Tavington stared down at her, listening to Charlotte's cries, her entire body was racked with tears. He knelt beside her, stroked her hip tenderly and she turned to him, hope filling her bright green eyes.

_No, Charlotte's eyes are blue... _

Hope died as soon as she saw his deadly expression.

"William -" she pushed his hand off her thigh and began to edge away from him.

"You would threaten my lover, hmm?" he said to the rebel woman as he took hold of her ankles and dragged her onto her back. He parted her thighs and lowered himself to her. "Is Martin raping her, I wonder? He said he would."

He took hold of his erection and positioned himself at her entrance, gazing into her blue eyes all the while. Again he saw that flash of green again and again he frowned. So haunted, tears spilling, fear. Those green eyes where usually filled with pleasure when he was inside her. The green eyes became blue.

"Mrs. Selton, it will be over quicker and if you please me I will show mercy, to you and to the children."

Charlotte whimpered with fear.

Tavington was momentarily overcome with weakness. He reeled, his vision darkened to pin points and he almost collapsed. _Christ, am I sick?_ He steadied himself, ignored the ache in his thigh - what happened, had he been shot? Confusion, so much confusion. It had not happened like this, and her eyes had not kept flashing from green to blue.

"Honey, please don't do this, not like this!"

Not like this? Tavington smiled coldly. Martin would not be gentle with Lyra - he would rape her, had probably already raped her! The Colonel must make the Ghost suffer, by making Charlotte suffer.

His strength returned, the pain in his thigh receding from his awareness, he grabbed Charlotte and turned her bodily onto her stomach, pushing her shift aside and quickly covering her with his weight again. She shook her head with denial, tried to crawl out from beneath him but he was too heavy.

"Has your rebel lover ever taken you here?" He whispered against her ear, his erection moving back and forth against her backside. "Or are you still a virgin, hmm?"

"William please - stop this, you are not yourself -"

"William!" Tavington taunted softly against her ear, his whisper was hot and dripping sex. "So familiar, darling! We have only just met!" He reached between their bodies, took hold of his cock and positioned himself against her tight entrance.

"Oh, no... William -"

"Poor Charlotte. Just relax, rebel whore. This will hurt - I will not deny it. But Martin must be punished for what he has done to my Lyra."

A strange calmness seemed to come over the woman. Breathing steadily as he nudged at her entrance, she spoke clearly, her tone was implacable.

"Honey, you are not yourself. I am not Charlotte Selton, but your own lover, Lyra Mathan. You have a fever, and have taken medicine to combat it. Even still, if you do this, I will _never_ forgive you."

Tavington paused, uncertain.

_Honey_... Lyra had taken to calling him honey. He loved how the word dripped from her tongue, her South Carolina drawl making it so much... more... So sweet. He loved it. He loved _her_.

"Honey," he repeated, confused and dazed.

"Yes, honey. Listen to me carefully now, this has gone far enough. No more. We have bedded many times, but if you do this, it will be rape and I will never forgive you, I vow. I will never allow you to see me again."

"Lyra..." His frown deepened. She would leave him. He lifted himself off her and Lyra gasped with relief and edged away from him.

Again, canon fire exploded all around him, lighting up the night and he lurched to his feet, raced to the windows to stare out into the darkness of night.

"I can't see them!" He raged. "Where are they! Lyra, quickly, darling - help me find my sword, my pistols. Darling!" He had turned back to the room, Lyra was huddled in on herself on the floor in the centre of the room. Racing to her side, he dropped the to the floor clumsily. "Darling, I need you to be brave - we are under attack but you are surrounded by Dragoons -"

More canon fire exploded, lightening filled the sky.

Lightening...

Tavington touched his fingers to his forehead and frowned. Lightening... Thunder, not canons. No attack. He crawled the short distance to the bed and sat against it, his body spent. His head throbbed and his stomach churned and the pain in his thigh was phenomenal.

"Lyra, I think I am going to be sick." He whispered.

His distraught lover drew closer, leaned under the bed and pulled out a chamber pot. He bent over the pot as his stomach began to convulse, and as he began to vomit, Lyra's shaking hands pulled his hair from his face. She wiped his mouth with a square of linen and rose on unsteady feet to call for a servant to take the soiled bowl away.

He watched her, confused. There was no battle - no need for her to fear. What was wrong - what had upset her? Perhaps she was afraid of storms, some people were. His sister always had been, for as long as he could remember. This one was particularly violent. She turned back into the room.

"Darling, come here," he held a listless arm out to her, hoping she would come and comfort him - he had not felt this ill since he had been sick with Yellow fever. He understood, finally, why she had wanted him to stay with her during the pain of her bleeding - he would be there for her next time, he would rub her stomach.

She would not look at him. Breathing heavily, she wiped the tears from her ravaged face and leaned on the window sill for support.

"What is wrong," he asked gently. "Are you afraid of storms? Come here."

She shook her head violently, her white blonde hair veiled her from his view as effectively as a curtain. He could not walk to her, his legs had turned to water.

_Why...? _

Memory returned. It was not the storm she feared, but him. He had been in a berserkers rage, and was lost in the memory of the night he had visited Selton's plantation. The memory had twisted into a horror, a nightmare and at the heart of it was Lyra, who he believed was Charlotte. He had struck her. He had terrorized her. He had been about to rape her.

Tavington lowered his head to his hands, wretched and raw.

"Lyra," his voice was hoarse, his vision closed about him - he had to focus his eyes to keep from fainting as another wave of nausea washed over him. Breathing raggedly, he tried again. "Lyra, I am sorry. I was not in my right mind. Lord - I am sick, darling. There is something wrong with me. I must be going mad. Lord, they will send me to Sanitarium - lock me away, darling -"

She turned to him, her arms crossed around herself, hugging tight.

"Lyra?" He called softly, "my sweet little one. I am so sorry. Won't you come to me? I never meant to hurt you, I was not in my right mind. I _am_ going mad, this war has driven me mad."

"No, William," she edged closer, finally dropping to her knees beside him. "You are not mad, it was a fever dream, a vivid, violent dream."

With a heavy sigh she put her arms around him, pulled him to her chest, stroked his hair and rocked him gently. With a croaking gasp he wrapped his arms around her waist and his whole body shuddered. Vaguely aware of being rocked gently, he gripped her tighter and closed his eyes, his head spun and he shivered uncontrollably.

"Christ, I nearly raped you. I nearly..." his tone was anguished, afraid he would lose her so soon, she had said she would leave him. "Darling, please don't leave me - I love you, so much." He felt her tense against him, heard her gasp. Her hand stilled on his hair and her heart raced, he could hear it pounding.

"What did you say?" She whispered, astounded.

"I nearly raped you! Please don't leave me, darling. I must be going mad."

"No, honey, you are not. I told you, you were having a vivid fever dream. What was the other thing you said?"

_What else did I say..._ He frowned, trying to remember. Oh yes...

"I said I love you, Lyra."

"Oh, God," a shudder racked her body, a loud gasp escaped her lips. "Oh, God." He felt her kiss the top of his head, her stroking hands moved all over his naked body.

"Christ I've not been this sick since... Lyra, I think I will faint," his vision closed again and he felt her hold on him tighten, he would not fall. Her voice sounded far away but he heard her, even as he slipped into darkness.

"I love you too."

:::::::::::::::::::::::

_"You should not have raped her, William. This is bad - it will come back to haunt you."_

_"You concern yourself too much with these rebels, Stephen. You heard her cry my name - she had been aching to be filled. Martin -"_

_"Will want revenge. It does not matter if you made her enjoy it - it was not real, her body betrayed her. It was wrong, you must see that?"_

_"I will do what ever it takes to bring him in, Stephen," Tavington snarled. "Be thankful we did not find his children tonight, or we would have left bodies hanging from trees in front of the whore's burning house."_

_"You would kill children? What is happening to you? I understand you are ambitious, but this?" Bordon was aghast._

_"This has nothing to do with my ambitions," Tavington lied. "He must be stopped! What of all the Loyalist women being raped and terrorized by his rebels? What is one rebel whore, to that?"_

_"He will retaliate, most strongly. And if Cornwallis hears of this, you can watch your entire career drift away on the wind. You are too high in the chain of command to walk away from such a crime as this!"_

_"Cornwallis will do nothing, Stephen," Tavington sniffed. "Are you going to stand there all morning? Sit down. I will tell you of my... arrangement... with Cornwallis. We have nothing to fear - I, and no other Dragoon will be held accountable for our actions."_

_Bordon's eyebrows climbed his head as Tavington explained the details of his arrangement. Of the rewards he would receive, he need only bring in the Ghost, no matter the cost. Cornwallis himself would shield Tavington from the worst of it._

:::::::::::::::::

"God, he is heavy," Lyra puffed as she helped lift Tavington onto the bed. She quickly covered his nudity with a blanket though Bordon did not seem to take any notice. "For someone so... athletic... He is damned heavy."

"Yes, passed out as he is, he is a dead weight. Good, Lord, what happened here?" He glanced around the room, it was a mess.

"William was trying to find his sword and pistol. In his fever haze he thought we where under attack, because of the thunder."

"I see," Bordon sighed and began straightening the room. "Doctor Johnson warned us it might happen. I'm not surprised he would think we were under attack. Especially with the battles we have been experiencing - its been fierce."

"He frightened me, Captain, he was enraged. For a while he did not know me, thought I was Charlotte Selton, and he was looking for Martin's children," Lyra's voice was small. "He hit me, thinking I was her."

"Oh, Miss Mathan!" Bordon crossed the room quickly and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"I am, now. It was horrid, I kept telling him it was me, but then he thought I had been taken by Martin. He threatened to kill me - I mean, Charlotte, he threatened to rape her, if she did not tell him where I was. And then he tried to... He was about to rape me, thinking I was her but I managed to finally get through to him and he stopped. I know I am bedding him but -"

"No, it is not the same," Bordon closed his eyes as guilt consumed him, Anne Howard's small frame, pinned beneath him as he grunted and groaned above her like an animal. "Rape is painful, violent... It is not the same."

"Did he do it?"

Bordon glanced down at her, eyebrows raised. She seemed afraid of the answer.

"Did he rape Charlotte Selton?"

"No," the lie came easily to Bordon's lips, it was Dragoon business. "No. We went to the plantation to find the children, we needed hostages to draw Martin in. We could find no one but slaves and then Martin himself came and we chased him through the night. It was a fever dream, Miss Mathan, his mind had twisted events into something completely different."

"Oh, thank the Lord above. I was so worried," Lyra bent over herself, her hands pressed to her stomach, clearly very relieved. "Oh... I do not know what he is capable of, it frightens me."

"Did he remember what he had done? He must have been quite distraught."

"He was, he did remember, before he fainted. I don't think I've ever seen him so... He seemed broken. That frightened me too, he is always so strong."

"He cares for you."

"And I for him," she turned to Tavington, laying beside her, and stroked his face tenderly. "His rage was terrible, he feared for me..."

"And he should, Miss Mathan. We need to keep you safe, you can not be taken by rebels. He has caused them great harm, they will want revenge."

Lyra's eyes grew large. "Then its true, its all real? William told me that Mr. Martin would take me, would rape me, but I just can't believe he would do me such harm!"

"He told Tavington he would, Miss Mathan. He threatened you personally, several days ago during the ambush, when the Colonel's fought each other."

"Oh." A frightened sigh. "But... I've known him so long. He is always so gentle, so kind."

"Not now. As I said, William has caused him great harm. Killed his son, tried to take another one prisoner, burned his home. His other children - dispossessed, then hunted down. And so Martin, he will do whatever it takes to hurt Tavington. And I'm afraid, sweet Miss Mathan, William's only weakness just now, is you."

Lyra closed her eyes, as if in prayer.

::::::::

_A/N - Yes, the whole husband thing is not resolved just yet, I've got more coming on that soon... I hope this chapter wasn't too dark or __angsty!_


	25. Chapter 25 - Professions of Love

**Chapter 25 - Professions of Love**

The storm lost its ferocity by morning, the howling wind, thunder and lightening had died down to a steady rain, which slowed to a drizzle and was gone completely by midday. The sun finally broke over the plantation after lunch.

Lyra had been quiet for most of the morning, though she stayed with William while he alternated sleeping and waking, she felt strained, pushed to her limit. It was not an easy or comfortable morning for either of them, but eventually Lyra began to behave as her usual self, even settling into his arms at one point, reading to him from a book.

It was a romance novel, one that William himself would never have picked up much less read from. It was a book his sister would love and had, no doubt, probably read a half hundred times. But not one for the hardened Colonel. When he was a boy, he had been fascinated with Robinson Crusoe and other adventure novels, but Lyra opted to read from The Princesse de Cleve's, a story set in 1500's France, about a young princess forced to an arranged marriage, with a man who loved her, but whom she did not love in return.

As the story unfolded Tavington tried hard not to roll his eyes or show his incredulity in any way. As expected the Princess fell in love with another man, and her husband, driven to madness by his unrequited love, eventually ended his own life. Tavington had felt passion and jealousy many a time, mostly over the very woman he held in his arms at that moment as she read to him. But to die of it as this Princesses husband did? Madness. Lyra, however, read with increasing fervor as the young princess found herself caught between her two loves.

Certainly not the novel of _his_ choice. He would have preferred for Lyra to have read him Fanny Hill. Perhaps he would return the favour and read to Lyra, when they reached Charles Town. She would like Fanny Hill, he felt certain. Or Moll Flanders... After everything he had taught her of bedding over the past week, nothing from those two books would shock her. Nevertheless, it felt good to have Lyra in his arms again, willing to put the horrors of the night behind her.

All good things must come to an end, however, and Lyra placed the book aside with a heavy sigh, wiping a tear over a particularly sad scene, and left him alone so she could take a bath. She had not even been gone a minute when the door opened again and Katie slipped inside the room.

Speaking of unrequited love... Tavington rolled his jaw with irritation.

"Katie, what the Devil?" He said coldly, dragging up the bed-sheet to cover his nakedness. "I'll have a hard time explaining this if Lyra returns and finds you here!"

Katie frowned as she approached the bed. "I was worried for you darling. God, after the duel and then you becoming sick. Tristan shot you, William! How is your wound?" She drew back the blankets and climbed into the bed beside him. "How do you feel?" She reached out to touch his forehead.

"Shit, Katie!" Tavington growled, pushing the blankets aside and leaping out of the bed. He grabbed his pillow and held it before him, to hide his nudity. "Get out!"

Katie was on all fours on the bed, staring up at him with astonishment. "William! You can not send me away! We have at least half an hour before the pretty little doll returns, plenty of time for us to..." She climbed off the bed and approached him. "Be together." She placed her hand on his bare chest and sighed.

"This is not going to happen, Katie," Tavington said, calm now. Still holding the pillow in place, he took hold of her arm and shoved it from his chest.

She stared up at him coldly.

"And what of us? I let you... Do what you did..."

"_Let_ me?" He quirked an eyebrow. "You had no choice."

"Hmm. Yes, it _was_ punishment. But you enjoyed it..." She placed her hand on the pillow, pushed it away, her fingers immediately tracing his cock. "I'll let you do it again. We have enough time."

Tavington's cock gave a twitch. It had felt... e_xceptional_, being in her tight embrace. There were not many women of his acquaintance that would welcome such coupling, and unfortunately, Lyra had made it clear that she would not try again. Tavington sighed heavily and closed his eyes as Katie's fist encircled his erection. He imagined turning her around, guiding her to bend over the bed. Imagined slipping inside her, thrusting.

Imagined Lyra's heartbreak, should she discover it. Especially if she were to walk in while they were in the middle of it!

"Now, William," Katie breathed against his ear. "We can do it now, my darling."

He drew a ragged breath, and seized her quickly pumping hand in a tight grip, stilling her movements. Several long moments later, he opened his eyes, prying her fingers from his cock. Pinning her with his gaze, he spoke slowly, deliberately leaving no room for confusion.

"I am in love with Lyra." He ignored her chagrined expression. "I have promised to be faithful and I mean to keep that promise."

"William!" Her tone was anguished, her eyes filled with tears of pain, of heartache.

Better her than Lyra.

"You will leave now, Katie, for I will not have her discover you here, will not have her experience even a moment of pain. I will not take you to my bed again." He released her wrist and, feeling faint and dizzy for he was not entirely recovered, he walked back to the bed and pulled the covers over himself.

Katie used the time to compose herself, wiping her tears and straightening her skirts. Then she glanced at the handsome Colonel, reclining once more on the pillow he had used to cover his nakedness.

"You really will not take me again?" She asked in a small voice.

"No Katie, while Lyra is my lover, I will not. And I do not plan on giving her up anytime soon."

Katie gathered her dignity, and swept from the room.

:::::::

Tavington finally felt more energy before dinner, even rising and dressing, and joining the Collins family in the dining hall for the evening meal. Bordon spent most of the meal speaking of the preparations to leave the following day, he had been working hard, it seemed, to get the last of the wounded on their feet and the men packed and ready to go. They would leave at first light.

Mr. Bradley Collins, of course, was very well pleased by this announcement. Finally, to be rid of the Colonel, the bloody bastard who had broken his nose over his bloody lover. He would be glad to see the backside of Miss Lyra Mathan, also. With her beautiful face and tempting lips. Christ, how good it had felt, to rub against her. He would have returned to her, when her menses had finished, if it was not for Tavington.

His broken nose and the pain of a broken rib where the Colonel had kicked him, were more than enough deterrent. He would keep his promise and never go near the wench again. He would not even look at her!

Tristan would be leaving, with the Green Dragoons. This saddened Bradley, he cared for his younger brother. Though Tristan had been quite wroth with him, over his treatment of Lyra. Well, how the Hell was he to have known that Tristan had planned to ask the girl to marry him? Neither Tristan or Bradley would have her now, not while the Colonel had his claws in her.

Katie was in the depths of despair. She had given herself to William, let him use her as he wished, in the hope that he would make her his mistress! But when she had slipped into the chamber he shared with Lyra, while the wretched girl was having a bath, the Colonel had told her in no uncertain terms that he had promised himself to Lyra, that he would be faithful to her!

She had been sore tempted to go directly to Lyra in her bath, and confess that she had bedded the Colonel twice since they had arrived at the plantation, that Cassie the maid had not been his only lover. But then she remembered how he had pinned her, and entered her from behind. He had been merciful, not hurting her too much, but she knew fully well that if she interfered, if she tried to come between Lyra and William again, she would be made to howl for it.

Yes, she would howl. And so she held her silence, embraced her despair, and hoped like Hell the hours would pass quickly until the Green Dragoons left them in peace.

:::::

William was too tired to meet the family in the parlor after dinner, it suited him far better to take Lyra back to their room, back to their bed.

Reclining against the pillows, Lyra reached over and picked up the book again, ready to read to him some more. She read half a page, read of the Princesses husband declaring his undying love for her, his wife. And William realised, at that moment, that he had not told Lyra how much he loved her since the previous night, after he had woken from his fever dream. He thought he remembered her saying the words back to him, just as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Tavington gently pried the hated book out of her hand and placed it on the bedside table.

"William! I was up to a really good part and -"

He silenced her with a sweet, gentle kiss. A mere brush of his lips on hers.

"Hmm," Lyra closed her eyes, as Tavington's lips drifted softly to her cheek, her jaw, then her neck. With a small smile, Lyra melted against him, forgetting all about the book for now. Her fingers lightly caressed his chest, making their way inside his shirt to touch his bare skin.

William drifted back to her lips, gently teasing her with soft, slow kisses.

"William," Lyra whispered, unable to say more as his fingers pulled away the shoulders of her bodice, his lips still a mere caress on hers.

"Hmm?" He murmured his question, their breaths mingling.

"Are you well enough?" She sighed, her fingers now caressing along his neck and through his hair.

"Always," he smiled, amused. His lips again moved to her neck, a soft trail that made her shiver. His arms held her in a tight embrace, his hands moving along her back as his mouth found hers once more. "I love you, darling," he whispered before deepening the kiss, and she parted her lips with a sigh.

"I love you," she murmured as their tongues met, stroking softly.

They took their time, making love gently, slowly, continually professing their love for one another, their lips never more than an inch apart as he stroked inside of her.

He was _very_ romantic, he thought with a smirk. The Princesses lover, the depraved seducer M. de Nemours from Lyra's book, had _nothing_ on Colonel William Tavington.

His thigh hurt like Hell, but as he lay back against the pillows, Lyra already asleep in his arms, he knew it had been worth it.

:::::

Thunder split the air, shaking the house, jerking Lyra awake.

"I thought the storm was over," she muttered sleepily.

"That is not thunder, not this time," Tavington lurched from the bed, his face implacable, stone. "They are here."

"Oh, God!" Lyra jumped from the bed as Tavington began to dress, steady and calm. In contrast, Lyra wrung her hands, twisting, as fear surged through her. "What do we do? William, what -"

"What I always do," he replied, strapping on his sword belt. He had been naked moments ago! Now he was fully dressed, he even had his boots on! He threw Lyra his banyan. "Fight."

"Oh, you can't, your wound! And you aren't recovered from your fever -" she stopped dead as another volley of canon exploded in the night, her entire body shivered and she began to cry, great fear filled sobs ripping from her. She felt Tavington's hands, cupping her chin and she opened her eyes.

He was calmness personified. "Lyra," he said firmly. "I need you to calm yourself."

He waited as she took several steadying breaths, her eyes fixed on his, she finally began to relax and he nodded curtly with approval. All the while pistol fire rang throughout the house, canons still firing and men were screaming.

Bordon opened the door and stepped into the room. Another calm one.

"Sir. Wilkins reports there are at least three hundred and fifty Continentals, with the remaining fifty rebels, all of them under Colonel Benjamin Martin's command. We have the house secure for now, but are out numbered two to one."

"Ah, the Ghost sought reinforcement from Burwell, it seems. That will explain why he was not at Black Swamp when we searched the are. Have the Collins family and their servants taken to the ball room, with half a score of Dragoons to protect them. Corporal Collins, Michael and Arthur Middleton, and another five of Lyra's guard are to take her out of the house, into the woods. I want her as far from the manor as possible, in case Martin comes looking for her." He turned to Lyra. "You will need to dress, quickly. Something dark. Forget your stays, wear stout shoes."

Bordon turned his back while Lyra dressed. The fight was still raging outside but these men, hardened to battle, were alert but not nervous in the slightest. She could not credit it, it was all she could do not to scream. More canon fire cut through the night, rattling the windows. The men were still discussing tactics and deployment when Lyra bound her hair back in a simple plait. Though her hands shook with fear, she was ready to go.

"I will gather Miss Mathan's guard. You wish Corporal Collins to join them, you say?"

"Yes. He will know the immediate area better than any of them."

"Very good," Bordon disappeared.

"What of you, William, surely you can't mean to fight? Your wound could tear open! Or you could fall flat on your face! Honey, you are not recovered!"

"I know my limitations, darling. I will direct this battle, but will only partake as a last line of defense," his lip curled, clearly he did not like the idea of fighting from the sidelines. He liked to be in the thick of battle, were he always excelled. Another volley of canon, this time it seemed to be directed away from the house.

"Ah, good man - Wilkins has captured their canon. Come, we'll meet your guards in the hallway."

Tavington ushered her out just as Bordon returned, indeed with the familiar faces of the Dragoons who had been set to guard her the night the rebels ambushed them, now including Tristan Collins in their number.

"Corporal," Tavington greeted him - no animosity, no jealousy, this was soldier to soldier. "We need a way out, do you know of any concealed passageways?"

"Yes, Sir," Tristan responded in kind. "From the master bedchamber, leading to the basement."

"And what of an easy escape route from the basement to the woods?"

Tristan thought for several moments, then nodded. "Yes, yes, a short trot across the yard, we will be exposed but there is no help for it. It will take just over a minute, if we sprint the distance."

"Very good. Wilkins," he turned to Richard Wilkins, James Wilkins brother. "You have command. Collins, you are the last line of defense, I am charging you personally with Lyra's safety. Be warned, I bedded Mrs. Selton and Benjamin Martin has sworn to avenge himself on me through Lyra."

Lyra gasped, he spared a quick glance but there was no time for more. He needed Tristan to understand the severity of the situation.

"If he gets hold of her," Tavington continued steadily, "he - will - rape - her. Of this I have no doubt."

"Christ," Tristan muttered. "I understand, Sir."

"Good, now lead the way. I will accompany you until we are in the yard, then Bordon and I will join the battle."

Lyra's head was spinning as they made their way down the corridor to Bradley Collins bedchamber. William _had_ bedded Mrs. Selton. Was it the same as the fever dream then? Did he rape her after all? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, saw his eyes on her. They walked across the master bedchamber, into the concealed passage. It was dark, the men carried torches down the slim corridors and stairs. Then they were in the basement.

"This way," Tristan led them to the exit closest to the woods. The noise of battle was immense, so very loud. Tristan and Richard Wilkins scouted the way, there were Dragoons fighting Continental in the very yard they needed to cross.

"We need a distraction," Tavington murmured. "Simpson, Collins!" He barked. "The two of you will get Lyra to the safety of the woods, and the rest of us will cover your retreat. Corporal, can you run?"

Tristan nodded. Though his wound hurt like hell, he would do his best. "Yes, Sir."

"Good man," he turned to Lyra. "You are down to two guards, I'm afraid. Listen to their commands, obey them utterly." Then to Tristan, "Collins, Simpson has command."

With that he kissed Lyra, hard and fast, quickly whispering, "it was seduction, not rape. Though her consent was... dubious at best."

She nodded, sensing he would tell her everything when the battle was done and they were reunited.

And then Tristan took her by the hand.

Despite the bullet wound in his leg and the infection he had still not recovered from, Tavington, with Bordon and his side and the remaining Dragoons at their backs, rushed out of the basement, entering the fray. Their explosion into the courtyard provided an excellent distraction, and amid the smoke caused by the firing of many pistols, Tristan and Max Simpson ushered Lyra out. The three of them raced across the yard, though the fighting men.

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_A/N - Thanks Lisette :-) _

_And to everyone who is reviewing, thank you. Sorry I took a little longer to update, was busy this weekend, and then I wanted to incorporate a more sensual, intimate scene between Lyra and Tavington. Thank you to JScorpio, whose awesome story, The Boundary, gave me tingles with its wonderful kissing scene between Bordon and OFC Laura...!_


	26. Chapter 26 - Pursuit

_a/n - Thank you to valspe9462 - for your reviews. Sorry, I couldn't PM you, it seems you have that switched off? So I thought I'd thank you here. I'm glad you are enoying 3 Colonels as well, thats my favourite._

_:-)_

_Oh, and there was a typo in the previous chapter - it is JScorpio - not JCScorpio, who wrote the awesome kissing scene in the equally awesome story called The Boundary._

_Okay, onto the next chapter..._

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**Chapter 26 - Pursuit**

It was one of the most harrowing minutes of her life, and she had had a lot of those lately.

A full minute Lyra ran, past the fighting, snarling, yelling, screaming, the clashing of swords and other weapons, with Tristan and Simpson to either side of her.

And then they were clear of the yard, and into the sparse woods. Thank the dear Lord above that William had told her not to wear her stays, she would not have been able to run had she been wearing them! Onward they ran through on the sodden and muddy forrest floor, the woodland eventually thickened around them until they struggled to maintain their fast pace amongst the trees. Tristan, still gripping Lyra's hand, led the way off the path to a thicket. The three of them pushed into the clump of bushes and squatted, huddling amongst the wet branches, trying to catch their breaths. Tristan pulled Lyra to him, and they wrapped their arms around each other for warmth and comfort.

"Your wound?" Lyra panted her question as Tristan rubbed at her shoulders.

"Hurts like all the fires of Hell," Tristan admitted before turning to his fellow Dragoon. "What do you think, Max?" They knew each other well, of course, though Max Simpson was his superior now. All three of them were breathing heavily, winded after their wild run and Tristan was in pain, he had not exaggerated, the bullet wound in his thigh was aflame. He had struggled to run, to ignore the pain, to not fall to his knees.

"This is excellent," Simpson whispered back. "Perfect. Even if we were followed, we are far off the path and its too dark for them to see us. They would have to be on top of us with lit firebrands. We must be quiet though. We stay here until Tavington sends Dragoons in to find us."

The trio fell silent and Lyra leaned her head against Tristan's chest, she could feel his heart pumping, pounding after the run. The sound of battle could still be heard, though it was quieter, the woods muffled the worst of it.

A short time past, however, when they began to hear their first signs of pursuit.

"Be very quiet now," Simpson breathed, as men called to one another, their footfalls growing closer, the glow of their firebrands growing brighter. Tristan clutched at Lyra, holding his pistol with his free hand, as did Simpson.

"The tracks lead this way!" Lyra recognized John Billings.

"Are you certain?" Benjamin Martin called back. Christ, the Ghost himself! Lyra held back a whimper of despair, he was determined to catch her indeed if he would leave the battle he was supposed to be commanding, in order to come and search for her!

There were twelve of them, Lyra counted as they drew nearer. Tristan and Simpson were outnumbered six to one! Her would be husband tightened his protective hold.

She recognised the men, all of them. All from Pembroke, they had attended church together, shared public lunches and the like. She knew these men, and although she had always been wary of men in general, she never would have expected them to hunt her down like an animal!

"We'll never find them in this," Dan Scott muttered.

"They are probably half way to Wakefield by now," Rollins said. "What'd ya go and warn 'im for, Ben? The Butcher's sent her off, known you'd come after 'er!"

"I should not have warned him," Benjamin agreed, their voices growing closer now, "that much is true. But see what lengths he has gone to protect her? She is the key, my friends."

"Oliver has begged you to be merciful with her, Ben," that from Curly, and Skunk was nodding his head. "He said that old Smith admitted to doing some pretty terrible things to her."

"Yeh," Skunk agreed. "Oliver nearly died trying to protect her and then she spoke for him, staying the Butcher's sword. She saved our Reverend's life, Ben. She's an innocent."

"So what are you saying?" Benjamin rounded on him. "That we let her be? Christ, Tavington _fucked_ Charlotte - an innocent! He _killed_ Christopher, or as good as! He _killed_ my son - who by Christ _was_ certainly an innocent! I am out for blood, now. My sword is drawn. I will not rest until he is dead."

"And if the only way we can bring him in is to take Miss Mathan," Danvers said, "then we take her."

"Fine, I understand that but Christ, she's done nothing wrong. And she used to play with my daughter! Do you really have too... Too..." Curly trailed off.

"Rape her?" Danvers finished harshly. "What good is she as a hostage if she is unhurt? Are you forgetting my Claire was one of the women taken? _She_ was raped, three times!"

"The Butcher might not have done it," Colt put in, "but he ordered it. My Mary... Christ, the nightmares she's been having!"

"Indeed," Benjamin said firmly. "Besides, I promised him. He raped Charlotte, I will rape Lyra. Perhaps I will make her enjoy it, the way he made Charlotte enjoy it. Christ, Nathan heard the entire thing, heard Charlotte moaning the Butcher's name, begging for more. I will make Lyra beg for more. When I am through with her, she won't want to return to the Butcher."

"And if yeh still got doubts," Rollins said as they drew further away, "don't be forgettin' what that Redcoat did ta Miss Howard. Raped 'er right there at the side 'o the church, on the ground in the dirt! And 'er father could do nuthin'. The Butcher watched it, then after when Miss Howard slapped 'er rapist, Tavington grabbed her 'n slapped 'er to the ground! And don't be forgettin'..."

Their voices trailed off and Lyra squatted in Tristan's embrace, stunned.

The light of the firebrands dwindled to nothing, they were alone once more. Nothing to do but huddle into each other in the sodden confines and try to breathe quietly, try not to think about what they had heard.

Difficult for Lyra! Anne Howard, raped? Dear Lord!

"Simpson?" She asked in a small voice, barely heard beyond the thicket. "Who raped Anne? Is it true?"

"It is Dragoon business." Simpson said, though his voice was weak, Lyra could feel him breathing heavily.

"Well, I'm a Dragoon," Tristan said firmly.

"It was Bordon," Simpson sighed. "He's a good man, would never condone rape before, always tried to talk the others out of it. But then Miss Howard... Christ, the way she fired up at him, at all of us, screaming and poking Bordon in the chest with her finger, berating him - he just snapped. He... Yeah, he raped her, but he was sorry - so very sorry. He's not been the same since. He apologised over and over and when Miss Howard slapped him, over and over, he took it. She was enraged, she was. And then - well, its as that fellow said - Colonel Tavington grabbed Miss Howard by the wrist, hauled her away and slapped her with the back of his hand and it was all too much for Miss Howard, she fell and wept. Tavington would not let anyone else have her, though the Dragoons blood was up and some of them wanted to."

"Oh, my God..." Lyra closed her eyes as she pictured her friend being attacked, in the dirt with Bordon heaving on top of her - No! It was too much. She shook her head to banish the image, and drew a ragged breath of despair.

"And now Martin is going to rape me?" She gasped. "Lord, why are we being targeted? Women, I mean. Poor Anne! She was going to let me live with her in her home!"

"We won't let Martin take you, Lyra," Tristan said firmly, still reeling from what he had been told.

"If he does take me, I won't enjoy it, not one bit. No matter what he does, I won't scream, even if its with agony in case he thinks its a scream of pleasure. I won't say his name, not even once!"

"Good girl," Simpson nodded with approval. "But as Collins says, we will not allow it to happen."

The three fell silent again, each alone with their thoughts.

Christ, poor Anne! How dreadful! Hot tears burned her eyes and she turned her head into Tristan's chest again. He rubbed her back, knowing full why she was distressed. She was as silent as she could be, her sobs no more perceptible than their breathing.

Martin was going to rape her. Make her enjoy it.

She meant it, if he got hold of her, if worst came to worst, she would never enjoy it. She would not cry out Martin's name on pain of death. If he wanted her screaming another man's name, he would do better to give her to his son! But no, thoughts of Gabriel did not have her reacting the same as they used to. It was Tavington she wanted, only Tavington.

And Tristan. Though she would never admit it to William, she still cared deeply for the boy. The day they had spent in each others arms was sweet and passionate, and one she would never forget.

Christ, poor _Gabriel_!

She was certain he and Anne would wed one day, everyone thought so! How torturous it must be for him, to have his own sweet heart raped. And Bordon... Lyra was conflicted - she _liked_ Bordon! So much! Had sought him out for _protection_ from William! _And_ he was a married man! She imagined him, kneeling in the dirt after committing his heinous crime, with Anne standing above him, her face twisted with rage as she slapped him over and over. It gave her some heart, that Anne was able to take some small revenge, and that Bordon took his punishment so stoically. Still, he had _raped_ her!

She did not know how to feel. She had felt safe with him, but if he was capable of such violence..! Perhaps all men were capable of violence.

Well, perhaps not Gabriel, he was so gentle and kind.

Dear Lord... William had _watched_! She could see him in her minds eye, standing over Bordon, his eyes ice, his back ramrod straight, completely unmoved by Anne's distress.

When the attack came, it was sudden and brutal. Simpson gasped, Lyra turned to him, his outline vague in the dim light, he was gurgling, choking and someone was standing above him, reaching over the thicket. That someone pulled his sword free and Simpson toppled midway out of the thicket.

Tristan began to curse, he pulled Lyra up, screamed at her to run, run. He shoved her out of the thicket, and she ran, he was hot on her heels, men were cursing all around them. He had told her to run and so she did, she kept running, crashing through trees, her way barely visible by the moonlight, and Tristan crashed behind her. Still running, she could still hear curses, no longer tracking them in silence now that the element of surprise was gone.

Benjamin screaming that he wanted her caught, wanted the Butcher to pay, a branch struck her cheek and she gasped, it stung like fire but she kept running, her heart pounding, her feet stomping the sodden earth. The curses grew quieter and she spied a darkness ahead, darker than the rest of the woods around her and she headed toward it, hoping for another thicket to hide in. Luck was on her side, thinking it was a miracle she had not turned her ankle, she pushed past the branches and squatted down low, trying to get her ragged breathing under control, willing her heart to stop its wild pounding. No sounds of pursuit, no Tristan either.

Dear Lord, where was he? He had been right behind her! She peered through the foliage, he was not coming through the woods, she realised belatedly she had not heard him for sometime. A glow ahead, getting closer, men cursing. She knew what that meant. They would see the thicket by the light of their firebrands, and would search it, they would find her. Panting with fear, she cast her gaze around, spied several large loose branches, she was squatting on even more. In desperation, she dug up the branches, pushed them out of the way until her fingers met bare earth. She was small enough, slight enough, that when she lay down on the mulch covered ground, curled up beneath the base of the bushes and dragged the branches over herself she was concealed. Not ideal, her skirts still showed in places but they were dark enough, would not show up easily if the person searching the thicket only glanced in quickly before moving on. The voices were getting closer, she placed a few more branches about her, and one over her face, then lay still.

Her white hair. It would serve as a beacon, as soon as the firebrand came close enough! Too late, there was nothing more to be done but hope and pray.

"This way, Ben. I heard her crashing through over hear somewhere." Danvers said.

Fuck. Why did it have to be Martin himself? He would not pass the thicket over with a cursory glance! She was relying on the darkness and an in attentive searcher to remain concealed and safe! Suddenly she felt very exposed, not enough branches, she was not burrowed into the bushes enough, her skirts were not so dark, they would reflect the light of the firebrand as would her hair -

"And now its suddenly quiet? She's gone to ground." Benjamin said coldly.

Closer now, Lyra resisted the urge to hold her breath, forced herself to breathe steadily. She could see their boots on the other side of the thicket.

"You search the bushes," Benjamin said, "I'll check over here."

The firebrand lit up the top of the thicket, the branches above her stirred. "Not large enough for a rabbit, let alone Tavington's whore." Danvers muttered and moved on.

Dear Lord, thank you! Her fore-bearers must have done wonderful things indeed for her to have such luck now. She could have cried with relief but that would have given her away. She feared the man would hear the sound of her pounding heart, as it was!

"Nothing?" Benjamin's disappointed voice sounded from where he searched another bush.

"No. She probably realised what a racket she was making and slowed down to a crawl. She is only a little thing, she could move as quietly as a rabbit."

"And as quickly."

"Do we keep searching?"

"The Dragoons have seized the ground back again," Benjamin said, as though thinking his way through. "The Butcher has secured his position and will probably enter these woods in force to find Lyra. We don't have enough to man a siege and I will have to order the withdrawal."

Both men fell silent as if listening. It was mostly quiet in the direction on the house, men could still be heard but the battle was over.

"We creep to the edge of the woods," Benjamin continued. "Confirm the situation, though I am certain the Redcoats have won the battle. Fuck Wilkins for managing to capture the canon! That decided the battle as soon as he seized it!"

"We've bloodied them, though, and I don't only mean the two we killed back there, guarding Tavington's whore -"

Lyra froze, no.. He could not mean... Tristan...

"- This was a slaughter for the Redcoats, almost as bad as it was for us the other night."

Benjamin snorted. "The other night, we lost shy of sixty men, including two Captains. Tavington will be lucky to have lost ten men tonight - he was already rallying them when I got word that Lyra had been seen heading for the woods. No - this was not a slaughter for the Redcoats, I think you will find more Continental and Parriot bodies than British. And unlike us, _they_ still have their Captains, their leaders."

"Your orders?" Danvers sounded resigned.

"Withdraw. Our mission tonight was to surprise Tavington and kill as many Redcoats as possible. We have done what we can, though I could have hoped for better results. We will come after Lyra again, Charles Town is not so secure as that," his voice grew quieter as he moved away. "We will catch her alone, we must. She is the key, Danvers, Tavington's weakness - he proved it tonight by trying to spirit her to safety. She..."

He was too far away for her to hear the rest. Too scared to move, all she could do was lay still, frozen in place, waiting for Tavington to mount a search for her, praying that Tristan was still alive all the while. Max Simpson was dead, of that she was certain. Silent tears coursed her cheeks for the young man who died while protecting her.

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They came across the first body, Simpson, laying on his side. Michael Middleton pressed his cheek to Max's chest to no avail - his heart was not beating. Michael gasped and settled back on his heels, shocked. He finally lifted his gaze to Tavington.

"Dead, Sir," he reported raggedly.

Tavington tightened his lips, before gripping the boys shoulder. "He was an exemplary soldier, and a great loss to the Green Dragoons."

Michael closed his eyes and nodded.

The search party moved on, following the tracks in the mulch covered ground by the glow of their firebrands. Judging by the footsteps, Collins and Lyra had escaped, but they had been followed by at least five others, for some distance. Tavington's patrol came across Tristan Collins, laying on his side, a deep wound in his chest. The Colonel stared down at the boy coldly, fear creeping his spine. Both her guards dead, there could only be one possible conclusion - Lyra had been caught.

He gazed down at Tristan's body for several long moments.

The boy had shown promise. He had been gutsy, Tavington had respected him, even if he had been infuriated over the whelps feelings for Lyra, his insistence that he continue to court her and marry her 'one day'. The Colonel had had plans for Collins when he recruited the boy, he was to be one of Lyra's protectors - the last line of defense, for who else would keep her safe at risk of his own life? Only Tavington himself, but he would not always be there, he would be on missions, going places he could not take Lyra.

Fuck. Lyra would be heartbroken when she learned of this. She would grieve for her friend, long lost, briefly recovered and lost to her again. Despite everything, Tavington wished he could spare her this pain.

They moved on, following the tracks for some distance, Tavington's fear rising by the moment. With both her guards dead, what chance did she have of evading capture? None. He studied the ground coldly, her lighter tread, the heavier treads of at least two men chasing her. He continued, with Bordon and a score of Dragoons, until he came across a small thicket where Lyra's tracks ended.

"William!" A frightened and relieved gasp, Lyra began disentangling herself from the thicket, pushing branches off her body as she crawled out stiffly. Tavington felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"Christ, Lyra!" He knelt down to help her out, and pulled her into a crushing embrace.

"I'm so cold," her teeth chattered. "Oh, William, they killed Max Simpson! He was right beside me, and we were being so quiet! How did they know we were there?"

"Shh..." He soothed, running his hands over her tangled hair.

"They were suddenly there, above us, and one ran Max through with his sword, he died instantly and Tristan told me to run and pushed me out of the thicket. He couldn't keep up, I think - his wound slowed him down, he said it was hurting him. I thought he was behind me but then when I hid I realised he had fallen behind and then I heard Mr. Martin," she choked on her sobs, clutching at Tavington, trying to draw strength from him. "I heard Martin and Danvers speaking while they looked for me and they said Tristan was dead! Oh, William - is he? Is Tristan...?"

The expression on his face confirmed her suspicions and she fell against him weeping harder as he held her close.

"I'm sorry, my sweet angel. We found his body a short distance from here," he said, his voice soothing, his hands still stroking her hair as she wept. "Come, we need to get you back to the house, you are soaking wet and might catch a chill," he helped her to rise, held her arm as she stumbled beside him back the way they had come. They soon came upon Tristan's body once more.

"We will need a litter. No, two litters to carry them back to the house," Bordon was saying.

Lyra gasped and dropped to Tristan's side, her hands moving over his face, his hair, his chest, searching for signs of life. Her hands came away coated with blood.

"Oh, God," she whispered, barely noticing William's hand gripping her shoulder. She had hoped...

Tavington knelt beside Lyra to check Tristan's condition himself.

"I am sorry, Lyra. He is gone," he said quietly.

"I thought... I hoped... Oh, William!"

Grief flooded through her and Lyra fell against Tavington, his hands stroking her hair soothingly as she started down at Tristan's lifeless body.


	27. Chapter 27 - Mrs Charlotte Selton

**Chapter 27 - Charlotte Selton**

Tavington gazed out the window of the carriage, watching as the scenery passed them by. Lyra was reclined against him in grief filled silence. She had barely slept a wink the entire night, the loss of her friend was all consuming.

They had left the plantation as planned, and were traveling at a very slow pace. Tavington had been loath to leave the wounded and dead from the previous nights battle, unguarded, at the plantation and so they had been placed in large canvas covered wagons. Doctor Johnson had decided to accompany them, to assist Mr. Blair, the Dragoons corpsman, in the caring of the men.

Another carriage ambled along behind the one Lyra and Tavington rode in. After much deliberation, a grief stricken Bradley Collins had declared his intention to travel with the Green Dragoons to Charles Town, after accepting Colonel Tavington's offer to have Tristan buried with all honors as was befitting for a Green Dragoon who had died performing his duties. Besides which, it simply was not safe at his plantation any longer. If the rebels had come once, they would again, and so the Collins had packed quickly and were ready to leave when Tavington was.

"Lyra," Tavington murmured. "Are you well?"

"No," she murmured against his chest and he held her close as a fresh bout of weeping began.

:::::::::::::::::

Lyra had been quiet for sometime, her head against Tavington's chest, taking what comfort she could from his closeness, his strength. She eventually remembered Charlotte Selton, however, and the threat that Benjamin Martin posed to Lyra, as a result of Tavington's 'seduction'.

"I think you have a tale to tell me, William," she said finally, very seriously. "I want the whole of it, too. Too much has happened now and I am in danger, because of your actions."

"That you are," Tavington sighed with resignation. "Bordon has repeatedly told me I would regret it, that there would be repercussions."

Lyra arched an eyebrow, Bordon was hardly one to talk, he had raped Anne Howard! Her arched expression eventually shifted to one of horror, as Tavington began to speak.

::::::::::::::::::::

He began with some of the atrocities that had been committed by the Ghost, there had been too many to recount. Shipments seized, Redcoat soldiers dying. Loyalists attacked in their homes, women raped. That she had heard before but Tavington went into deeper detail of the attacks. He spoke for some time before finally coming around to his attack at Mrs. Selton's plantation.

It had begun when, in an attempt to capture the Ghost, the Colonel had staged an ambush involving the British Legion - both his Green Dragoons and the infantry. The ambush had been a rousing success, though he had not managed to capture the Ghost himself, he had managed to taken almost twenty rebels. Those men had been returned to Fort Carolina for questioning. They spent a few very uncomfortable days in the stockade, while the Green Dragoons scouted the countryside, chasing down information that could lead them to the Ghost. Tavington had been returning from one of those scouting expeditions, only to discover that the Ghost himself had entered the Fort under parlay and managed to broker an agreement that would see his rebels released.

And Tavington had been powerless to stop him.

Oh, he _tried_ to provoke the man into attacking him, thus ending the parlay, even taunting the Ghost with his son's death, the boy Tavington himself had killed. Nothing had ruffled the man, however and Tavington had been forced to watch him leave, the Ghost slipping from his grasp like smoke.

Nevertheless, Tavington finally had the identity of the Ghost, and his next plan of action became clear, he had sought out Captain Wilkins, who told the Colonel everything he had needed to know.

Lyra lost herself in William's retelling, though she mused for some time over Smith, who had been one of the rebels captured that fateful day Tavington had staged his ambush. It was the Colonel's capture of Smith that had prevented her stepfather from coming to her sooner, which had allowed her time to escape with Mrs. Bryant. Which had, in turn, led to her own capture at the enraged Tavington's hands.

Circles... Lyra thought. They had done a full circle.

Tavington continued speaking, drawing Lyra's attention back from her stepfather. A few nights before he had met Lyra, the Dragoons had visited the farm of one Mrs. Charlotte Selton. As both Benjamin Martin's sister in law and his fiancé, she was the only person Wilkins could think of who Benjamin would trust with the care of his children.

And so, the full troop of Green Dragoons had borne down the lane leading to Drakespur, Charlotte's plantation, the dark of night lit only by their firebrands. The house had appeared empty at first, but Tavington had known the family must be there, hiding - most likely in places already decided upon in case danger descended upon them. While his Dragoons searched the property and the house, he had searched the dining area himself, searching under the table when he thought he heard a noise.

There had been nothing there and so he left, joining Wilkins in the foyer.

"Sir! We found Mrs. Selton, she has been taken to the parlor."

"Excellent," Tavington smiled, warmth and satisfaction suffusing him. He had been in a bloodthirsty rage since the Ghost had successfully managed to trick Lord Cornwallis and General O'Hara into releasing the twenty prisoners in return for Redcoat captives who turned out to be nothing more than Redcoats stuffed with straw.

The Colonel, after months of searching, had become fevered, almost obsessed with his need to capture the Ghost. But now, finally, he was free of the chain of command, and all the months of waiting, of holding himself back, tense and taut, were finally about to be unleashed on poor Mrs. Selton. He suddenly felt a burning need for her, a base, primary compulsion.

"I will question her alone," he said grimly, he gave Wilkins a series of instructions before entering the parlor and shutting the door behind him. It was already well lit, thanks to the Dragoons. He stopped dead when he saw her, as tall and as beautiful as he remembered her to be. They had only met a handful of times, mostly under less strained circumstances.

"Mrs. Selton," Tavington greeted her as he placed his helmet on a nearby stand. "It is nice to see you again." He strode forward toward her, his voice polite, though his eyes roamed over her, taking her in from head to toe.

"Colonel Tavington," she said rather calmly, her voice shook only a little. "I wish I could say the same."

The Colonel showed her a hint of a smile and inclined his head.

"Yes, the circumstances are less than perfect," he eased a little closer to her, slowly, unthreateningly. But still, she edged away. He continued to keep his voice polite, smooth. "Tell me, Mrs. Selton, have you seen Mr. Benjamin Martin? Has he visited you, do you know where he is?"

"No," she breathed, shaking her head imperceptibly. Her hands shook and she clutched her skirts to still them. "No," she continued in a stronger tone. "I have not seen him in some months, and I do not know where he might be."

"And his children?" Edging closer again, until Charlotte was against the wall and he stood directly before her. He only had to lower his eyes slightly, she was almost equal to him in height. "Where might they be?"

"With their father, I am sure," a whisper now, her eyes wide with fear. "Sir, why have you come?"

"Oh, I dare say you already know, Mrs. Selton," a hint of a smile again, his polite tone taking on a dangerous edge. "Though if the children are not here, what am I to do? Oh, dear, I am presented with quite the quandary."

"How so?" Charlotte asked, hoping for a way out, any way out. He was terrifying, was this man standing before her. She could see the violence in him, lurking behind his cold pale eyes. He was a coiled spring ready to pounce, and after all the atrocities he had committed, she feared for her life.

"You see, Mrs. Selton," Tavington raised an eyebrow coolly. "I need those children. I need them to bring the Ghost to me. The way I see it now, you are standing between me, and my goal. Tell me, Mrs. Selton, what _am_ I to do?"

"Sir, I... I do not know... What you are speaking of. I do not know where the children are!"

Fury flared over his face, quickly stifled. No, he would not unleash his temper. Not yet.

"You are lying, Mrs. Selton," he said firmly, glaring down at her unbendingly. "You can hardly expect me to believe that you are here, all alone."

"I am not, I have my servants and -"

"Quite a lot of children's toys, books and chests full of their clothes," he interrupted with a contemptuous smile and Charlotte blanched. His tone became beguiling. "Come now, you may have hidden the children themselves away, but you can not hide the evidence that they do indeed reside here. Now, I am going to ask you again, and I do hope you will co-operate with me, for I do not wish to lose patience with you. Where - are - the - children?" He asked in clipped tones, bordering impatience.

Charlotte swallowed hard, she stared into his cold eyes, finding only implacable resolve. No mercy, no benevolence. He eased closer again and Charlotte found herself flat against the wall.

Suddenly, Wilkins began to yell. It was one of the instructions Tavington had given his Captain. Exactly five minutes after the Colonel had entered the parlor, Wilkins was to begin yelling that he had found one of the children. He was to cause enough agony to a servant - preferably a woman - that the servant cried out, causing an already frightened Charlotte to believe the worst.

A woman screamed... Tavington smiled. Very good. His course of action became clear.

"Hmm, perhaps I do not need your co-operation after all," Tavington purred. "Miss Margaret Martin, unless I miss my guess. Thirteen years old, or is she fourteen?"

"Thirteen," Charlotte breathed. "Please, Sir, don't hurt her, please!"

"Hurt her?" Tavington smiled, a quick quiet laugh puffed from his lips. "Not at all. We shall make her a woman, Mrs. Selton," he said proudly. "She will thank us."

Right on cue, the woman screamed again. Tavington could clearly hear by the sound that it was an older woman, in her mid twenties perhaps, but in her terrified state, Charlotte believed it was Margaret.

"Oh, Lord, no..." Charlotte, white faced, began to sag with panic and horror.

"Then perhaps you are ready to tell me where the other children are, hmm?" He drawled, taking her by the arm to support her.

"Sir, please - I told them to flee! Not to hide, to flee! They know the woods well, and they were to not stop running. I do not know where they are now, I swear!"

Tavington considered her silently, studying her eyes, trying to determine the truth.

"Then it is up to you," he said finally, coldly. "That is, you and Miss Margaret Martin."

"What is? Please, do not hurt her! Set her free -" she shuddered when the servant screamed again, she continued screaming and Tavington wondered if his men were indulging of the woman. That did not fit in with his plans at all, it was the _threat_ of raping Margaret that would control Charlotte. "Oh, no... No... Do something!"

The screaming ceased - the timing could not have been more perfect.

"No need," he said softly, his pale gaze studying her intently. "Captain Bordon has the situation in hand, it seems. He will have taken your niece from Captain Wilkins. The two are at odds, however, who knows how much longer Bordon will be able to protect little Miss Martin for?"

Another out and out lie. Captain Bordon and Captain Wilkins got along very well indeed - though it served his purposes now to say otherwise.

"God, what do you want from me, from us?"

"The children," Tavington's smiled was taunting. "The Ghost. Where are he, and his rabble hiding, Mrs. Selton? And remember, your nieces virtue hangs on your answer."

"Oh, please, Sir!" Crying now. "I do not know - I swear it. I was not lying when I said it has been some time since he was here. They move so often, the numbers of men joining grow every day and they have to find larger headquarters to accommodate them!" She clutched at his Redcoat and stared up at him imploring, her eyes swimming with tears. He glared down at her implacably, unmoved in the slightest. "The last I heard they were stationed at Edward Rutledge's plantation but they had to move on from there for it was too far away for them to strike your forces, too far away to receive supplies, and their numbers had grown too large! But I do not know where they went to! I would tell you, Sir, you must believe me!"

"Why should I believe you," Tavington's voice, like silk drawn over a bared blade. Smooth but ready to attack. Charlotte shivered, sensing the danger. "When you are Martin's lover? Why would I believe you would give him up so easily?"

"Because he is surrounded by a force of men!" Charlotte shouted up at him desperately. "While we are here, alone, unprotected and entirely at your mercy!"

"Yes," his smile did not reach his eyes. "You certainly are."

"Oh God," Charlotte lowered her face away from him. "You are entirely _without_ mercy."

"No, not _entirely_," he stroked her face gently, and her eyes opened wide with incredulity, with instant realisation. A widowed woman, and now lover to the Ghost, she was no stranger to men, this one. She recognised desire when she saw it.

"No," she said firmly, swatting his hand away.

"No?" He asked, amused. "What of your poor niece, out there alone with my Dragoons? And me, entirely without mercy." He leaned forward and kissed her neck, his lips moving gently along her throat. "You could teach me mercy," he whispered against her skin, and smiled when she shuddered.

"No," she said, a little less certainly.

"Come now," he whispered, drifting higher, his lips moving along her jaw. "What of Margaret?" Higher, to whisper in her ear, "shall I take her instead? Will it be my bastard she carries? She is old enough..."

"Only thirteen," Charlotte despaired.

"Hmm, I do prefer older women myself," his fingers cupped her chin, tilting her face up to his, he kissed her lips gently. She responded, moving her lips across his.

"You won't harm Margaret?" She whispered.

Tavington smiled. "On my honor."

"You have no honor," Charlotte said, resigned.

"I have my own sort of honor, my lover," he encouraged her lips to part and she gasped as their tongues began to gently stroke. "How long as it been for you, my lover?" He asked warmly, his erection asserting itself. "I do enjoy my women tight..."

"Its been long enough," she answered, her voice filled with despair, with desperation. He gazed down at her and smiled, then he laughed.

"Oh, you poor dear," he condescended. "You have a need, don't you? An itch... You'll be begging me soon, screaming my name."

"Never!" Charlotte gasped.

"Liar," Tavington teased. His voice beguiling once more, "pleasure me, Mrs Selton."

Charlotte gulped as Tavington moved back from her and began unbuckling his breeches, working on the buttons next. He tugged them down far enough to free his heavy erection, as Charlotte, who knew exactly what the Colonel wanted, lowered herself to her knees. Convincing herself it was to protect Margaret, not for her own desire, she began to tease the Colonel with her tongue, then took him into her mouth, her head slowly bopping along his length as she suckled him.

"Hmm," Tavington sighed. "Wonderful."

And it was. To be buried to the hilt in the Ghost's fiancés mouth... He smiled cruelly and glanced down to watch her progress. It startled him to see her eyes where closed, her face was slack with pleasure. She may have been forced to this, but she certainly enjoyed it well enough.

"Christ," he muttered as the tension heightened.

He began to rock his hips back and forth, moving deeper into her mouth. He swallowed hard as his sack twitched and constricted. No - he would not come so soon, he would draw this moment out for as long as he dared. Asserting an iron self control, he tensed his body, forced himself to calm, breathing steadily until his need abated. For long minutes she stroked him with her tongue, suckled him gently and not so gently, as she panted with the pleasure of it.

"Mrs. Selton?"

She glanced up at him, her eyes glazed, her mouth open wide around his girth. It almost undid him, he gripped her hair tight and growled, trying like Hell to stop himself from thrusting to his release. He pulled back, withdrawing slowly, and began to rub his cock against her smooth cheek. She gasped and pressed her face to him, as he continued to rock against her.

Finally under control again, he lifted her to her feet. She made no objection when he lifted her skirts. His fingers exploring her between her legs, searching for her quim within her folds. Her glazed eyes became glassy when his fingers swiped her hard little quim, and she began to pant again, pushing her hips forward against him.

"You are very wet, Mrs. Selton," he taunted softly. "Did I do this to you?"

"Bastard..." She could barely breathe, much less speak.

"Say it," he murmured against her lips as his fingers moulded her quim.

She shook her head frantically and he drew his fingers away.

"Say it!' He commanded, every inch the Colonel.

Charlotte wailed. "Oh, please! Oh..." Breathing frantically, she gave in. "Oh, I want this William. Please don't stop, please!"

"William?" Tavington arched an amused eyebrow. "My dear Mrs. Selton, so familiar!"

"Oh, please, William, it feels so good! Its been so long for me!"

He laughed and began to stroke her once again. "See? I know mercy."

Charlotte rocked against his fingers, gasped, ignoring his taunts. She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on for dear life as her orgasm began to build, steadily, almost within reach. Almost...

"Charlotte," he drawled in her ear, his fingers never ceasing their slow torture of her flesh. "I am going to fuck you, Charlotte."

She whimpered and nodded. "Yes, William... Oh..."

"And you are going to enjoy every moment, aren't you, lover?"

Dear Lord, that voice, _dripping_ sex!

"Yes, oh Christ, I am!"

He smiled as he watched her climax, her body shuddered and he felt a wave of wetness dribble out of her. He slid his finger inside her and sighed heavily. She had not lied, it had been so long since she had been with her lover, and she was tight, so blessedly tight!

"How many times has the Ghost been here," another finger joined the first and she bore down with a desperate gasp, pushing him deeper.

"Many," _her_ voice taunted now, she had gained some equilibrium. "He has had me many a time, William, and he is the most wonderful lover I've ever known."

"I am going to make you forget him, Charlotte," he whispered as he fucked her with his fingers, his own cock stood proud and heavy from his body, seed beaded the tip, angry and aching for release.

"For the moment perhaps," she said calmly, though her voice was thick with lust. "Only for the moment."

Tavington curled his lip, irritated.

"Very well," he said coldly, turning away from her abruptly, he sat on a nearby chair, his breeches still around his thighs. "Come here," he commanded, reaching for her. "Sit astride me, and do your best."

She arched an eyebrow but did as commanded, lifting her leg over his lap to straddle him. He took hold of his erection and slid inside her with ease.

"Fuck," he muttered, breathing deeply, he dropped his head back against the chair.

"Hmm," she agreed as she began to move. He rocked his hips in time with her, but she did all of the work. His hands on her hips, gripping her tightly, as she bore down on him and lifted up, faster, ever faster.

Panting, she lowered her lips to his, and with a cruel smile he pulled away, not allowing her to kiss him as he fucked her.

"Bastard," she muttered and met his thrusts. Holding tight to his shoulders, she stared down at him, biting her lips and whimpering as the tension built steadily. His kissing had felt truly wondrous, and she wanted more, she studied him trying to determine the best course of action.

Yes, he wanted her to beg, to say his name, to stroke his ego... Not a taxing thing to do, considering the circumstances.

He closed his eyes, his face slack with pleasure, she could feel him twitch inside of her.

"William," she whimpered, he opened his eyes, his pale gaze on her as she bore up and down.

"Hmm?"

"Kiss me. Please, I enjoy it so much more if I'm kissed."

"You do, do you?" that taunting drawl, she wanted to slap that smile off his face, wanted to kick him, wanted to... to fuck him, wanted to come... Oh Christ, it was so good!

"I do," she cried. "William, oh..." She lowered her lips to his again, desperately hoping he would not pull away.

He did not. With that self satisfied smile, he kissed her, his lips moving along hers, his tongue stroking, their breaths mingling.

This was how it was meant to be, she had never known anything else, while making love. She moaned and thrust wildly, driving his erection deeper, whimpering against his mouth.

Tavington could feel it, the tingle before the surge. He would climax soon. His itch assuaged.

"Ah, yes," he moaned into her mouth as the tension became fire, heat coursing his veins. "Perhaps I'll leave a small present for the Ghost, hmm?" Even at his apex he taunted her, he gripped her hips and pushed her down on his length. "A wee bastard for him to raise? To replace the son he lost, the one I killed? Thomas, was that his name?"

Charlotte cried out, despairing grief for Thomas even as she reached her climax and was set adrift on those magnificent waves.

Tavington groaned. The tingle surged, a blaze of unending fire, he planted his heels into the floor and pushed his pelvis up, pulling her down, his lips twisted as his seed shot out, deeply inside her. He held her in place - she was crying again, for her lost nephew, he could only guess. She tried to lift herself off him, but he held her down, impaled on his length not allowing her move off his lap yet. He wanted his seed inside her, wanted it to catch, wanted her to bear him a bastard for the Ghost.

"A boy," he gasped, forcing her to keep still. "A boy for the Ghost."

He was far to strong for her, she ceased her struggles and collapsed against him, still crying.

"Come now, I am not entirely without mercy remember?" He released her finally, with a heavy, satisfied sigh. She hauled away from him, stood on shaking legs to stare down at him with horror at his cruelty. He smiled. "Come to think of it, I believe I am rather generous."

"Get out of my home," she gasped. To mention Thomas now, with no remorse at all! "Leave, Butcher, do not return."

"As you wish, madam," he rose and tugged up his breeches. "You will write to me, won't you?" He taunted and touched her stomach. She jerked away. "I will want to know if your belly quickens with my child."

"I will do everything within my power to see it doesn't." Her voice was harsh.

"Hmm. You are no better than a Bristol doxy, to know of such methods," he commented with distaste. "Very well, I shall take my leave of you."

"Wait! What of Margaret! I want my niece returned to me."

"You told me she was told to run, run and keep running. I would not have a clue where your niece is, Mrs. Selton."

"What the Devil -"

Tavington was already striding from the parlor into the foyer, out into the night, with Charlotte following hot on his heels. She stopped dead when they made their way outside to the darkness of the night. There, held hard against Wilkins, an African woman of some twenty years was crying, her arm pulled around her back.

"There you are, my lover. Miss Margaret Martin," Tavington smirked as he made for his horse.

"Bastard!" Charlotte's shrieks were deafened by a sudden noise, explosions from pistol fire further along the lane.

Tavington's self satisfied smirk shifted to one of bloodlust and he ran for his horse, shouting "To arms!" He launched into the saddle and the Green Dragoons gave Benjamin Martin and his rebels chase until well into the night.

:::

_A/N - I know, Tavington never met Charlotte in the movie, but he had been traipsing back and forth along the Santee for months by this stage and I think they would have met at least a few times._


	28. Chapter 28 - Charles Town

**Chapter 28 - Charles Town**

Lyra was quiet for some time after Tavington ended recounted the event. She could feel his eyes on her, waiting expectantly for her response.

Lyra, however, was stunned. Shocked. She had no idea what to feel, what to thing. Rape, that was not rape, but...

No, it _was_ rape, just of a different nature. Charlotte had only coupled with Tavington, for she felt she had to - she thought she was protecting Margaret, her thirteen year old niece, from his attentions. It did not matter if she felt any pleasure, if Tavington had approached her for bedding under different circumstances, she would have refused him. She had been coerced, plain and simple.

"I dare say this was not an easy thing for you to hear," Tavington prompted tentatively as he watched her. "But it was necessary to tell you. You now understand why Martin wants you so badly."

"It is horrid, what you did to her," she said finally in a quiet voice.

"Lyra, what they are doing out there -"

"I _know_ Mrs. Selton," she said sharply, cutting him off. "I _know_ her. I know the whole family. Thomas, also. You taunted her, William. Perhaps she felt pleasure from what you did, but she never would have done it if not for your threat to Margaret. You did not seduce her, that was not seduction."

Tavington tilted his chin, stared down his nose at her, his lips tight. He made no protest, however, he had heard all this and more from Bordon, several times over.

"Not seduction," Lyra shook her head. "Coercion. Rape. As you had planned to do to me that first night. You were gong to force me, in a gentle manner - under threat of giving me to the other Dragoons, who were busying themselves with the rebel captives."

"I recall it differently," he said coolly. "I recall seducing you, you melted against me, Lyra. I showed you such pleasure as you have never known."

"And when you thought I was not a virgin, you beat me. And then you almost raped me, it was a near thing - you only stopped when you realised I _was_ indeed, a virgin."

"Lyra, I thought we had settled this, you forgave me -"

"But it was not your first time! Only the night before, or two nights before, you did the same to Mrs. Selton, forcing yourself on her on pain of raping her niece! And then you taunted her with her nephews death - suggesting you replace the boy you killed!"

He rocked his jaw from side to side, his annoyance mounting. Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and hard.

"I do not have to explain myself to you, Lyra. I will not accept, nor will I tolerate, chastisement from you," he leaned forward, his face stone and Lyra snapped her mouth shut. Christ, he still had that effect on her, after all they had been through, to be able to silence her with a look. She swallowed hard, unable to pull her eyes from his implacable glare. "I merely told you this, at your request, so you would understand why Martin wants you. I can, and will protect you. I am the only one who _can_ protect you. Do not weep for what I have done to the rebels, Lyra, or for what I have ordered done. Don't you dare!"

The last was a hiss, a growl, low deep in his throat.

Lyra had drawn back from him, she was breathing heavily, her face white.

"They have done so much," still that horrible hiss. "So _very_ much. I know my duty, even if you do not understand it, even if you deplore it. I will do what ever it takes to bring the Ghost to me."

"And he will do what ever it takes to bring the _Butcher_ to him." That snapped him to attention as nothing else could. "And everyone around you is paying for it. Me." She said firmly. A brief hesitation, then she continued quietly, "Tristan."

Tavington stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. Shock turned to fury and had to fight back the urge to slap her.

"You blame me for Tristan's death?" He bellowed, filled with rage, his eyes blazed as he leaned closer to her. "Tristan's death was war, Lyra! He died with honor, in the line of duty! I gave him personal guard of you, and he accepted his task willingly, knowing the dangers!"

Lyra turned from him and hung her head, weeping for her lost friend, the one person in her life who had represented the joys from her childhood. And if she had married him, he would have done everything within his power to provide her with a joyful future. "He should not have been there," she whispered through her tears. "He was wounded, it slowed him down! He shouldn't have been there!"

Tavington drew several deep, calming breaths before he felt he could trust his voice to speak.

"And yet, I would have entrusted your safety to none other," he said coolly. She turned to face him, her eyes bright with tears. "None other, Lyra. He loved you, wanted to marry you." She sighed heavily, but she was listening. "He wished to rescue you from me, even suggested that _duel_ for Christ's sake!" He wiped her tears and pulled her close to him, snuggling her head under his chin. "He was a pain in my arse, but I trusted him completely. It was war, Lyra. I lost soldiers last night, he was one of many who showed fine promise indeed."

"And I lost my oldest friend."

"I know, darling."

After a long silence, Tavington asked, "would you have married him, Lyra?"

"Yes, William. If not for you, I would have," another heavy sigh. Tavington said nothing, there was nothing he could say. "Benjamin Martin terrifies me," she said against his chest, speaking her fears aloud. "He is out there, planning. He said Charles Town is not so safe for me, that he will rape me..."

"Only if he gets hold of you, my angel," he said quietly, gently stroking her cheek. "And that I will _not_ allow. You will go nowhere without a very strong guard, men of my choosing."

"You don't feel any remorse?" She asked quietly. "For any of it?"

"No. There is not time for remorse, it is not the time to second guess my actions. All I can do is move forward, and do what I can to win this war. I know my duty."

"And after the war?"

Tavington shrugged. "Bordon fears I will regret my actions and so he tries to rein me in. He does not know me as well as he thinks, however. When this war is done, I will leave this place and never look back."

Lyra gasped and jerked away from him. It was as she had feared, he would return to England, marry some woman of his mother's choosing, re-join the gentry, leaving her behind, alone.

"Lyra," William sensed her distress, understood it immediately. Cutting to the heart of her fears, he took her hand, his tone was surprisingly gentle. "That is not what I meant. I will leave this place, South Carolina, and never look back. But you will come with me, when we make our push into North Carolina and beyond."

"And then?" She asked, holding his gaze, saw him hesitate. "William -"

"I do not know," he said honestly and shrugged. "I do not know, Lyra."

She tore her gaze from his and drew her hand away. He took it again, of course.

"I will not let her go so easily as that," he said, shuffling closer and pulling her into his embrace.

Lyra relaxed against him and closed her eyes, feeling oddly comforted and frightened at the same time. No, he would never let her go so easily...

After such a devastating and exhausting night, the rumble of the carriage lulled them and sleep finally claimed them both.

:::

"We are almost there, Sir," Bordon said, he road his charger along side the wagon, and Tavington had lifted the curtain to speak to his Captain through the window.

He had awoken a short while ago, though Lyra still slept in his arms snoring softly. He was still bone tired and the wound in his thigh was aching after his exertions the previous night. Charging in to the thick of battle had done his wound no favors at all.

"How much longer?" He asked, quietly so he did not wake Lyra.

"A half hour or so. I wonder how long Cornwallis will reside in Charles Town before returning to the Fort? He will be leaving Francis Rawdon in charge here, won't he?"

"Yes, he will. As for how long, I do not know. At least a few weeks, I hope - the Dragoons need a decent rest."

"Then you will probably have a few days, Sir," Bordon said with a small smile. "I can not imagine that Cornwallis will give us weeks while the Ghost is still at large."

"Hmm," Tavington nodded. "I dare say you are quite right."

"I'd like to bring Mrs. Bordon," the Captain focused his gaze straight ahead, not meeting William's eyes.

"Good idea, Lyra will need a friend at the Fort."

Bordon jerked his head to face him, his expression incredulous. "She's coming with is?"

"Of, course, she must. You saw yourself what lengths Martin went to last night to capture her. I will not risk leaving her behind when we leave here. Besides, he will have less chance getting to her in the fort."

"Does she know you wish her to accompany you?"

"Yes, she is aware she will be coming with me. She has been looking forward to seeing her home again, and to being reunited with her maid Sally and her former governess, Mrs. Bryant. Nevertheless, there is nothing for her in Charles Town but memories."

"Hmm. We will need to be especially vigilant at the ball, the Ghost seems to favor attacking during these soirée's."

"Certainly. Let us hope he leaves the ships in the harbour unmolested this time."

"Yes, the Simms will be less than pleased if their ball is disrupted. Did Miss Mathan ever receive that ball gown you had made for her?" It felt like months ago, not merely days since they arrived at the Collins plantation and discussed the ball for the first time.

"No," Tavington frowned. "And there won't be time to have one made now. I will need to organise something for her however, you know how vicious some of these Charles Town socialites can be. Perhaps Mrs. Collins has something appropriate."

"Not ideal, Miss Mathan wearing a used gown - not to the _Simms_ ball, if it can be helped."

"Hmm, I believe you are correct. Lyra must be dressed in the finest silks..." Tavington paused, then curled his lip and muttered derisively. "The Simms. If anyone is going to cause trouble and treat Lyra as an outcast, it will be them. Especially when it becomes obvious that she is my mistress."

He had had his share of altercations with the Loyalist aristocratic family. One of South Carolina's five reining families, the Simms filled the breach in power left behind by the Patriot Rutledge's and Pinckney's when those two families fled Charles Town ahead of the British Army. The Middleton's and the Wilkins were the last of the five reining families. Neither were quite as wealthy or prestigious as the Simms, though the Middleton's came close.

The Commander in Chief, Sir Henry Clinton courted the Simms for their influence over the other families, for their political and financial power. Even Cornwallis had been growing increasingly dependent on the aristocratic family, which had connections all through the Colonies, even extending across the ocean, back to Britain. They were too powerful by far to be ignored, with their strong ties to England and their strong participation in the Royal colonial government.

And as such, unfortunately, the Colonel could not avoid attending the ball for he had no wish to be reprimanded by Cornwallis for offering an insult. He would go, but he would not allow his Lyra to enter on his arm in anything but the finest silks and the newest fashions. With barely a week to go, he wondered if he could persuade a seamstress or three to work on a proper ball gown for his lover. He had a very persuasive nature, after all. Only the best would do, he decided, he would not suffer her wearing Katie's cast off's any longer.

"Perhaps I will speak with Mrs. Bordon tonight, I am certain she has been in Charles Town long enough to know who the best seamstresses are, and who deals with the greatest quality material."

"Taking up dress making, are we?" Bordon smiled.

"Nothing is too good for Lyra," Tavington said quietly, nuzzling his nose into his sleeping lovers hair. "I told her about Charlotte."

"You did?" Another surprise. "All of it?"

"Indeed. She needs to understand the danger. Suffice it to say, she was none too pleased."

"I dare say." Bordon guided his horse with ease alongside the wagon. "I told you it would come back to haunt you."

Tavington sighed heavily but did not respond. He detested it when people said "I told you so".

::::::::::

The Green Dragoons were intercepted as soon as they entered Charles Town.

Lyra was mostly awake, sitting beside Tavington, yawning broadly and stretching, rubbing her eyes and trying hard to wake properly. The column slowed to a crawl as they entered the first security point, they were ushered through immediately. At the next one, however, a young Private asked to speak with Tavington personally.

The Colonel jumped down from the carriage and Lyra, who needed to stretch her legs, decided to accompany him. He helped her down from the carriage and the two approached the Private waiting for Tavington.

"Colonel Tavington, Green Dragoons," he introduced himself tersely.

"Sir!" The Private stood to attention. "Orders came down early yesterday morning, Sir. You are to go directly to Cornwallis, as soon as you gain the town. And you are to take one Miss Lyra Mathan with you."

Tavington froze, he turned slowly to Lyra, his expression stunned as he studied her.

"Very well," he said finally, eyes still on Lyra. "Please send word to Lord Cornwallis, I will be with him momentarily, and Miss Mathan also."

"Very good, Sir," the Private ran for his horse, and quickly galloped away. Lyra swallowed hard.

"What could he want with me, William? What -"

"Calm yourself, Lyra. And freshen up. One does not go before Lord Cornwallis in soiled dresses, no matter how urgently he summons her. Mrs. Collins!" He snapped, already striding toward the carriage Katie shared with her husband, completely uncaring that he was intruding on them during their time of grief.

In short order, grumbling all the while about being forced to perform maid duties for Tavington's mistress, Katie helped Lyra undress, wash up, dress again, and helped her with her hair. Lyra had pulled forth one of Katie's altered silk dresses, one she had not worn before. It had a matching hat with a ribbon. Her gold chain with her locket and Tristan's ring hung from her neck, the locket and ring nestled between the top of her breasts. She adjusted them, placing them just so.

"Stop fussing!" Tavington snapped, and she glanced up at him, startled. He drew a ragged breath, tried to smooth his tone. Concern over what Cornwallis might want with Lyra made him surly.

"What is in it, anyway? I assume it opens." Ignoring the ring, he reached out and touched the locket gently. She opened it and stepped closer to show him.

"My parents, see?"

"Ah... That's why..." He remembered her searching Smith's pockets frantically, clutching her prize to her chest when she found it. "Christ you look like your mother."

The miniatures where magnificent. Exquisite. Lyra did not seem to have any of her father in her, but her mother... The resemblance was striking. Her mother had been every bit as beautiful as Lyra was, with the same bright green eyes and white blonde hair.

"Hmm, a lot of people say so," she smiled wistfully and looked down at the little oils with a heavy sigh.

"Shall we?" He said gently, offering her his arm.

He left instructions for the Dragoons to disperse to the residences where they were quartered, the Collins family would continue on to their manor house next door to Lyra's. It was a short trip to the Assembly Hall, Lyra fretted most of the way there.

"I just want to go home, William. I want to see Sally, and Mrs. Bryant! What could Lord Cornwallis possibly want with me? How does he even know I exist?"

"Mrs. Bryant, I imagine, has lodged a complaint."

Lyra was stunned speechless, her mouth formed an "oh" of realisation. Their meeting at the rebel woman's farm over a week ago had been less than pleasant. Mrs. Bryant could not possibly know her charge had found safety with the Colonel, not after he had slapped Lyra and ordered her taken as a possible traitor.

"Would complaints of that nature usually be dealt with Cornwallis himself?" Lyra asked incredulously.

"No," Tavington frowned. "It usually stops at O'Hara, the Brigadier General. Besides, I'm..."

"You're what?"

_Free of the chain of command... _He should not have to answer for anything he did, with Lyra or any other person.

"William?"

"Nothing, don't worry yourself. We are here," the carriage stopped and Tavington climbed out first, favouring his wounded leg. He assisted Lyra as she held her skirts up with one hand, her other hand gripping her fan. He was soon leading the way through the broad halls, his hand on Lyra's arm to guide her around all the troops and personnel, Cornwallis staff. Men stopped and stared as Lyra past, she lowered her eyes and shuffled closer to William. The stares, nor Lyra's discomfort went unnoticed by the Colonel, who soon glared at almost every Redcoat until they averted their eyes with embarrassment at having been caught ogling.

Finally they made it to Cornwallis' offices and they were admitted immediately. The Lord General was not alone, of course, his many aide-de-camps, General O'Hara, Mr. Simms was present, as he usually was. Strangely, however, his imperious Lady mother, Mrs. Rebecca Simms stood on one side of him, his son Joseph stood on the other. Tavington tightened his lips. This was to be a public dressing down, then.

To make matters worse, Lyra had stopped dead, simply stopped walking, her eyes as wide as they could go as she stared at all the people. Especially the Simms. Intimidated perhaps - Mrs. Simms wore a very stern glare.

"Come, Lyra," William took her by the arm, pitching his voice for her ears alone. "All will be well, I am right here."

She shot him a startled glance, then suddenly remembered her mothers training, she assumed a graceful air of indifference and stepped forward at Tavington's side.

"Colonel Tavington," Cornwallis greeted him, in a tone thick with displeasure and frustration. He nodded at one of his staff, who immediately began to clear the room of his Generals and aide-de-camps.

When the room was emptied, Cornwallis rounded on Tavington. "You have some explaining to do, Colonel. I have received a very distressing complaint from Mr.. Simms, that you have kidnapped his niece, that you struck her, and took her captive even _after_ she explained she was a Loyalist trying to make her way to the safety of Charles Town. Now. What do you have to say in your defense?"

Tavington speechless. Words would not come. Breathing heavily, the Colonel turned slowly to Lyra, who was staring at the older woman, Mrs. Simms. Tavington turned his gaze back to the woman and immediately began to see the familial similarities. Rebecca Simms, her son - the head of their house, Cole Simms and his oldest son and heir, Joseph. All wore implacable expressions of fury on their hard faces and in their glittering green eyes.

Oh, fuck.

Lyra was a Lady of the Simms family - one of the most powerful and aristocratic families in the colonies.

And just like that, Tavington felt it all slip away.

His land, the promise of Ohio - gone. His career - ended. His future - drifting away on the wind. With a heavy weight on his chest he felt it _all_ disappear.

There was no saving him, no defense he could give to justify his actions to Cornwallis' satisfaction. He had captured Lyra, had struck her, had terrorized and beat her for not being a virgin.

Christ! He had _seduced away the virtue from a Lady of the Simms family_!

It was all gone from him now, the life he had built since purchasing his commission into the cavalry, his glory and fame - he was considered a hero back home! But now..?

All gone. Even the woman he loved, his green eyed beauty, would be denied him now. He would be bereft, alone, no Lyra. Nothing.

"Well?" Cornwallis was still waiting. For the first time in his life, Tavington was at a loss. He had felt justified in his actions but his reasoning would bear no weight now, his was defense thin indeed. He opened his mouth, then slowly closed it again, bereft of words, there was no _air, _he could not breathe.

Cornwallis turned to Lyra, his severe expression softly into contrition.

"Miss Lyra Mathan, I presume?" His tone polity apologetic.

"Yes, my Lord," Lyra said hesitantly. She glanced at Tavington, her face fearful and concerned.

"I am Lord General, Charles Cornwallis. This is Brigadier General, Charles O'Hara," he gestured to O'Hara, who was staring at Tavington with an expression of concern. Cornwallis continued, "I am pleased to see you returned to your family, child. I wish to extend my apologies, for any hurt you may have suffered. Colonel Tavington's actions toward you are utterly despicable and he will be disciplined harshly."

The Colonel tried again, he opened his mouth to speak, and yet again, words failed him.

_Disciplined harshly. _

Yes. At best, he would be caned for taking the girls virtue and beating her, at worst he would be expelled from the army, his fame and glory, and his rank and title, stripped from him. He would be derided in polite society forevermore, never allowed to mingle amongst the gentry again.

No career, no land, no livelihood, no honour.

And perhaps worst of all, no Lyra.

Christ.


	29. Chapter 29 - The Pit of Despair

**Chapter 29 - The Pit of Despair**

William struggled to breathe. He gazed at Lyra, still standing at his side, then he shifted his gaze to Mr. Cole Simms, Lyra's Uncle and head of her house. There was no forgiveness in Cole's green eyes, only implacable fury.

He could almost feel the whisper of the cane stroking his back, could almost hear it as it swished through the air to strike his bare flesh. He did not fear a caning, it would not be the first time he had felt the excruciating sting - a man earned his stripes under the cane.

It was the other punishments that Tavington feared. An ambitious man, ruthless, cold and hard. But what was he without his rank? Without the army? Nothing. He thought furiously, trying to find the words that would save him, that would allow him to walk away from this with his dignity, his honor, his rank and career, his future. Still nothing came to him.

"My Lord, I believe there has been a mistake." Lyra quailed under the attention, her voice was a soft whisper. Tavington's eyes widened with astonishment, he gazed down at Lyra, daring to hope.

"Oh?" Cornwallis raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"What foolishness is this child?" Mrs. Rebecca Simms snapped harshly. "Mrs. Bryant made her report to me directly, and your slaves, Sally and Arcam validated it! This man took you hostage when he discovered you at a farm during your travels. Mrs. Bryant told me he would not believe you were a Loyalist and ordered you taken captive, that he struck you, you fell to the ground!"

Lyra's hands twitched nervously, her eyes darting from her formidable grandmother to the Lord General and back. She drew a ragged breath, and settled her gaze on her grandmother.

"Grandmama... No, you have been misinformed," she swallowed hard, then addressed Cornwallis. "While Colonel Tavington and I did not get off to the best of starts, he has behaved as a Gentleman throughout our time together."

_Christ. She's going to do it. She's going save me. Christ. _He began to breathe again, the tension draining from him as gazed at Lyra, his savior.

"Miss Mathan, did Colonel Tavington strike you, did he take you captive?"

"Yes, but... He had reason to believe I was lying, I had not been entirely truthful with him and he saw through the cracks in my story. If I had just been honest from the start... but I did not trust him, then, and feared him. He told Captain Bordon to take me captive, and I panicked, I bit Captain Bordon's hand -"

"You bit him?" O'Hara said incredulously, not quite able to hide his amusement. Tavington sensed his superiors relief, O'Hara could not afford to lose the Colonel.

"Yes... I..." A glance at Tavington, "and so Colonel Tavington did indeed strike me for attacking his Officer."

"I see," Cornwallis said gravely. "And what lie did you tell Colonel Tavington?"

"I can barely remember," Lyra breathed, a glance at Tavington for help.

"I believe it was regarding your stepfather, Miss Mathan," he prompted coolly.

"Oh, yes. Thomas Smith, my Lord, was a rebel, he was one of Benjamin Martin's own Captains. I myself am a Loyalist, but I feared, under the circumstances, that Colonel Tavington would not believe me because of my rebel connections and so I left out details, made up others and -"

"Colonel Tavington saw right through your ruse?" O'Hara cut in. "He's quite perceptive, it is why he does so well in the field. I can see why you were frightened however, Tavington has that effect on people."

O'Hara's voice was stern but with a trace of fondness, he was proud indeed of the young cavalryman who had worked his way through the ranks.

"Miss Mathan, do you wish to lay a formal complaint against Colonel Tavington?" Cornwallis asked forthright.

"My Lord, I do not." Lyra said firmly, avoiding her grandmother's disgruntled gaze.

"Very well," he turned to Mrs. Simms. "Are you satisfied with your granddaughter's account?"

"Not entirely," Rebecca sniffed sharply. "There is still the matter of her traveling for a week amongst these men, with no female chaperone to speak of!"

"Colonel Tavington was a Gentleman, Grandmama," Lyra said softly, nervously.

Rebecca pursed her lips but it was her son who spoke, for the first time. "Thomas Smith. Lyra, you said he '_was_' a Captain for Martin. Is he no longer?"

"No, Uncle," Lyra said. "There was a battle, Smith and Colonel Tavington fought, and the Colonel killed him."

"Smith is dead?" Simms asked, his incredulous expression shifted to one of pleasure. "Well now. Something more we have to thank you for, it seems," he addressed Tavington directly, finally ready to be gracious and forgiving. "You have my gratitude, Sir, for freeing my niece and for bringing her to Charles Town where she will be safe."

"Safe?" Tavington quirked an eyebrow. "No, Sir. Miss Mathan is far from _safe_," he curled his lip. "Your niece has incurred Benjamin Martin's wrath, and he has sworn vengeance."

It took some explaining, of course. Tavington spoke of Lyra's assistance that saw some rebel farms burned, including Benjamin Martins brothers. He focused on Lyra's 'betrayal' of the Patriot cause as the motive for Martins revenge, without mentioning Tavington's seduction of Charlotte Selton.

"He told me, when I fought him, that he would come for Miss Mathan, and indeed, last night, he _left the skirmish," _he caught, and held, Cornwallis' eyes. "With eleven rebels to track her down in the woods where I had sent her with two guards. Both guards were killed. Miss Mathan avoided capture by the skin of her teeth, when she hid in a thicket and covered herself with branches."

"He's the Commander! He left the battle to search for her?" Cornwallis was incredulous.

"Indeed. Now you understand the depth of his resolve. Miss Mathan is not safe."

"Would that you had killed him," Rebecca said primly.

"If only." He turned to address Cornwallis. "I have designated a guard for Miss Mathan, men from the Green Dragoons. So far there are ten of them though I will be increasing their number. They will stand vigil over Miss Mathan at all times, for she overheard Martin tell his rebel companion that he would come for her when she reaches Charles Town."

"Very well -"

"Now see here!" Rebecca protested at once. "What do you mean 'at all times'? How many men are we speaking of? I do not want so many Dragoons getting under foot and I already have Redcoats billeted in my home!"

"Your home?" Tavington raised a cool eyebrow. "Miss Mathan has opened her home to the Green Dragoons, we will reside with her in her manor house on Tradd St -"

"Absolutely not!" Rebecca cried with outrage. "Was it not enough that she has had her virtue compromised after a week in your company, unchaperoned? I will not allow my granddaughter to live in her manor house surrounded by Dragoons!"

"Grandmama -"

"No, Lyra! I will not have it! The Dragoons may billet there, if you wish to show some gratitude to them for their protection," she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "But you will be living with me and your family! Two years with no training to speak of? You will be turning into a savage soon! You will reside with me, and I will take over your eduction myself. You may have five Dragoon guards to protect you."

Lyra shot Tavington a searching, beseeching look, hoping he would intervene. Irritation flared through him, the plans he and Lyra had made were being utterly disrupted. They had thought to share Lyra's bedchamber in her manor! But he had no grounds to force the Simms family to relinquish her.

"A full score, Mrs. Simms, and not one less." He snapped. If he could not have Lyra at her house, then he would reside with her, with a small force, at the noble Mrs. Simms stately mansion.

"Twenty men! Ridiculous! No more than -"

"I am not bargaining with you," Tavington said coldly, silencing the older woman. "This is not open for discussion, Miss Mathan will have a full score of Dragoons, and that - is - final!"

Rebecca glanced at Cornwallis, expecting support, but the Lord General nodded, siding with Tavington. "I trust Colonel Tavington's assessment of the situation. A direct threat has been made toward a member of your own family and I agree with the measures the Colonel would use to counter it. A full score."

"Very well," Rebecca seethed, furious she would have to house so many.

"Now that that is settled," Cole Simms said firmly. "We can move on to more important matters."

"Indeed," Rebecca turned to Lyra who was looking very dejected, and excluded. "Your marriage, Lyra."

"Marriage?" Lyra breathed. Tavington froze, panic rifled through him, his gaze darted back and forth from Lyra to Mrs. Simms.

"Mrs. Bryant did not tell you? Honestly, I should never have sent her, I should have come myself. None of this would have happened if -"

"_You_ sent her?" Lyra asked softly.

"Of course! Did you think she just happened to be passing by your farm? Of course I sent her."

Lyra covered it well, but he had come to know her - he saw when she reeled with shock, and with heartache. She had thought Mrs. Bryant had come for her out of love, out of shared friendship.

Disbelief crossed her face and then... Resignation.

"So. Mrs. Bryant did not tell you." Rebecca snapped, stepping forward to confront her granddaughter. "What else did she not tell you, I wonder? All three banns have already been read child. The ball we are hosting is in your honor, to celebrate your wedding, which will be held this coming Sunday!"

Lyra reeled. Tavington resisted the urge to reach for her, he could not be seen to offer her comfort and support now, he would do nothing to rouse their suspicions. He stood rigid, frozen in place, and assumed a facade of stone.

"This is a private affair, Mamma," Cole Simms said, belatedly. "We shall discuss this at home."

"Yes, come along Lyra," Rebecca's silks skirts swished as she glided toward the door.

Lyra locked eyes on Tavington, pleading with him silently to intervene. She had saved him, and now she wanted him to save her.

He hesitated, staring down into the eyes of the woman he loved, ready to speak the words that would stop this marriage in its tracks. Publicly declare Lyra as his mistress, his lover.

Declare her virtue gone, and ruin her utterly.

He could not do it. She was a Lady of one of the most prestigious families in the Colonies, to mention anything of their affair now would destroy her, humiliate her. She would be shunned from society. He snapped his mouth shut. There had to be another way to stop this. The banns? Announced without her consent, without her knowledge? Perhaps the key lay there, for he had no direct authority over her.

The Colonel had tasked himself with her protection and so far Cornwallis had not intervened, but his control did not extend beyond her security. Mr. Cole Simms was the head of her _very_ powerful family, and held full authority over her until she married the man he had chosen for her. Neither Cornwallis nor O'Hara would support the Colonel if he overstepped himself now. Her _lover_ Tavington might have been, but only as her _husband_ could he override Lyra's family.

For the second time since entering Cornwallis' office, Tavington felt it all falling apart. Again. And even worse, Lyra was still staring up at him, her green eyes pleading, for only moments had past as his mind worked furiously through the problem. He could see no way out, not yet.

"Miss Mathan," he began and she brightened with hope, she smiled at him with relief and confidence that he could, indeed save her. It cut him to the bone that he could not. Helplessness welled inside him, but he kept his voice smooth, controlled, even cold. "I will prepare your guard, men you trust under Michael Middleton's command. I will come by the mansion shortly to discuss it."

The hope drained from her eyes. He took her hand, brushed a kiss across her fingers, then with reluctance in every ounce of his being, he let her go.

"William," she breathed, her face crumpled and her eyes welled tears.

"My hands are tied," he breathed back, then he nodded curtly in farewell. Assuming a ramrod straight military stance, with one arm behind his back, he watched behind a stone facade as Lyra gasped, and fled the room.

::::::

_Oh, my Lord. Oh, my Lord. _

Lyra could not think of anything else. The banns were read, she was to be married and William had not lifted a finger.

_Oh, my Lord. _

How could he abandon her so? He would not let her go so easily! He had said so, he had fought a duel over her! They had made plans! He loved her!

Didn't he?

She could barely see where her cousin Joseph led her, his hand on her arm steadying her as they followed their grandmother and his father. He glanced down at her with concern, to see her so distraught, but he put it down to the shock of learning she was to be wed. They had not even told her who she was marrying, it was only normal for her to be fearful. Hopefully she would show more excitement when she discovered it.

_How have the banns been read?_ Lyra thought frantically. _How? Without my knowledge, without my consent? How can this be happening? How could he let me go, so easily! Oh my God, Tristan is dead and now I've lost William as well! _

She drew a ragged breath, trying to control her tears, which ran unabashedly down her face. Joseph handed her a hanky, and she wiped her tears and tried to gain some semblance of control. But it was hard, so _very_ hard.

William had abandoned her to her fate, had not even watched her leave! Cornwallis had continued to address him, she had heard his voice speaking of military matters before she had even left the office! She was dumbfounded. Utterly dumbfounded. Bereft. Alone. What could she do, what resistance?

_"My hands are tied," _he had whispered before gazing down at her so coldly.

_Oh, my Lord!_

They were outside, climbing in to the carriage. A traitorous part of her that still clung to hope caused her to gaze through the window, hoping to see him come running. Any moment now, he would be there, at her side, helping her out of the carriage.

But it was not to be, the carriage lurched forward and began to make its way to the Simms mansion, in the very wealthy quarter of Charles Town. Lyra drew in another ragged breath, sorrow and grief over whelming her, and she burst in to tears again.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Rebecca snapped, she had not noticed Lyra's distressed state. "What a display!"

"Grandmama, come now. Cousin Lyra has had quite a shock, after all. And according to Colonel Tavington, she was attacked last night. Lyra," Joseph turned to the weeping girl. "You need to rest. As soon as we return to the mansion, we will have a bath drawn for you, and afterward you will have a rest -"

"No," Cole's voice was stern, unforgiving. "All of that can take place _after_ Lyra has been told exactly what is to occur and what is expected of her. Time is running short, and I need to know that she will co-operate without fuss, seeing that she had no knowledge of what was to come."

"Agreed. Mrs. Bryant," Rebecca spat. "Of all the foolish..! I instructed her to tell the girl everything! What were the two of you doing while you travelled? Reminiscing of times gone? From everything Bryant told me, there would not have been very many happy memories to share!"

"She told you?" Lyra's tone was quiet, listless. "About what Thomas was doing to me?"

"Of course she told me, Lyra. She sent me regular letters from the Santee right up until the day Smith booted her from that... shack they called a home."

Lyra swooned. One little sentence, but it held a world of meaning for Lyra. Not only had Mrs. Bryant written to Rebecca of what was occurring out on the farm, but her grandmother - her very powerful grandmother had done nothing to help her. Nothing. Simply left her to her fate. As William was leaving her now.

"What is this?" Joseph frowned. "What was Thomas doing to you?" Grief and the gravity of her situation had seized her tongue and was not able to answer him. "Grandmama?"

"It is nothing, Joey," Rebecca said warmly, gripping Joseph's hand. She had never bothered to hide her fondness of the boy, her favourite grandchild.

"Nothing?" Lyra whispered finally. "He made me pleasure him, and you knew all along -"

"Silence child!" Rebecca's voice lashed out like a whip.

"Mrs. Bryant told you," it was difficult to speak, she felt she might be sick. Joseph gazed down at his beautiful cousin, concern and commiseration weighed heavily on him. "She was in your employ?"

_Dear Lord, I thought she cared for me!_

"Of course she was! Did you think that Smith paid her? Bah! I provided her with everything she wanted and she provided me with everything I needed - information. Your foolish mother, I tried to warn her what sort of person Smith was, well before you were ever born. But no, she would not have it. Smith seduced her for her inheritance, for her dowry and when I told him in no uncertain terms that he would not get so much as a single sovereign, he slunk away quickly enough. But it was too late, your mother was already pregnant."

"Pregnant," Lyra swayed and Joseph placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"Yes, Lyra. Pregnant." Rebecca's voice was implacable, and held not a trace of sympathy for her bastard granddaughter. Joseph stared balefully at her, but she ignored him. "Pregnant with you."

"Oh, God!" Lyra gasped, bile churned in her gut and she leaned forward, fearful she might be sick.

"Dear Lord!" Rebecca snapped as Cole curled his lip and searched for something Lyra could be sick on. "Be careful of my silks, child!"

Lyra did not sick up, though it was a near thing. Her head pounded, as did her heart. Grief such as she had not known since her father and then her mother passed away welled inside her. No, not her father after all. Mr. Mathan was not her father. She was the bastard child of Smith.

"Did he know?" She wailed, frantic. "Oh, God, after the things he made me do, please... Tell me he didn't know?"

"No, he did not," Cole curled his lip. "We managed to get my whore of a sister wed to Mathan in short order, he thought you were his, all along. I doubt he could have children, for no more came after you were born. And that harridan, as widow she was outside of the families authority, she goes running off with that rebel cretin before her husband was even cold in the ground."

"Oh, God... Papa... Oh..."

Joseph handed her another handkerchief, his arm around his cousins shoulders offering silent support. He turned to his grandmother.

"You did, though," his irate tone accused, "you knew and you left her with him, even after learning Smith was... doing things... with her? It's incest Grandmama, for shame!"

"Joey, darling - you must try and understand! Mrs. Bryant assured me that Thomas would not couple with her, he wanted her to be a virgin on her wedding night. And as we planned to have her away from him when she was of marriageable age, there was really no danger, was there?"

"None!" Joseph spat sarcastically. "Except the torment that poor Lyra has had to go through, when you could have helped her!"

And still Lyra wept, great tearing sobs ripped from her. Thomas Smith was her real father. She had been forced to... Oh, God!

"We could not take her away from him, Joseph," Cole said firmly. "He was her rightful father, even if he did not know it, _and_ he was her legal guardian. Besides, the two of you were better raised apart!"

"It is not right! What you did! If you wanted us raised separately, she could have lived with Aunt Betsy in New York - we rarely see her!"

"Who am I to marry?" Lyra gasped through her tears. "Who?"

"Oh, Lyra," Joseph said sorrowfully. "That would be me cousin. You will be married to me."

Lyra fell silent and stared with shock at her cousin, this stranger who she would be forced to marry. So many emotions whirled through her, she hardly knew what to feel. Grief, shock, heartbreak.

Her plans, her life - everything was falling apart.

::::::::::::::::::::

She was shown to the parlor, was told a bath would be drawn. Her belongings would be bought to her room, some of them were already there, thanks to Mrs. Bryant, who had marshaled Arcam and Sally as soon as the Dragoons had ridden off with Lyra on that fateful day what seemed months ago. They had indeed headed directly for Charles Town, as Tavington had suspected they would.

Joseph sat beside her on the chaise, watching his listless cousin with concern as his father and their grandmother explained what would happen next. The banns were read. The wedding would take place the next coming Sunday and yes, the ball was in her honor.

"So soon?" Lyra whispered.

"Yes. None of this would be a shock if Mrs. Bryant," Rebecca shot the former governess a baleful glance. "Had explained as she was supposed to. You should have known from the outset! Bah! Never mind. You will be a dutiful granddaughter and marry as we deem, child. Do not think to protest, for I will lock you in your bedchamber, do not think I won't! Your mother thought she could protest, she soon found the truth of the matter!"

"Grandmama," Joseph sighed. Christ, he could not understand why they did not just leave the poor girl be, could they not see her distress? Did they truly care nothing for her at all? No, he realised , for she was a bastard.

Christ, the two of them, both his father and their grandmother had been at Lyra since they had returned to the mansion. He could not understand it at first, he had never seen either of them behave so cruelly, toward anyone! And then he realised, to his chagrin that they both saw Lyra as a mark of shame - a blight on the family name, a bastard born of a whore.

He had always liked his cousin, though he had not spent too much time with her growing up, the feud between his father and Aunt Claire had prevented Lyra and Joseph from spending much time together. The feud, he was discovering now, that was caused by Claire's forced marriage to Mr. Mathan. Joseph began to worry for his future happiness with Lyra, he had hoped they would be content with one another, from the time he had been informed he was to marry her. He had known for a few months now.

"And look how wonderfully that turned out," Mrs. Bryant said brightly. "Claire was so unhappy at first, but she came to love her husband before long. Before you were even born, Lyra."

Lyra lifted her gaze to the former governess then looked away once more. She had not acknowledged Mrs. Bryant since they were reunited. The older woman sighed heavily.

"Joseph will make you an excellent husband, Lyra," Rebecca said firmly. "And you WILL BE a dutiful wife. He deserves no less." That with a warm smile at Joseph, who felt like growling. "All this weeping and melancholia is an insult to him, and to us. We are being very generous indeed, offering you, a natural child," her lips twisted on the words, clearly she wanted to say 'bastard'. "A future in this family."

"Dear Lord, Grandmama -" Joseph began his protest but Rebecca raised her voice, speaking right over him.

"We shall begin your lessons right away, this very afternoon after your bath."

"Lessons?" Lyra asked quietly. Joseph had the feeling his cousin might faint any moment.

"Indeed. Joseph is used to Ladies of polite society, not farm girls," she sniffed. "Besides. You are already a Simms and will become even more so when you marry. I will not have you embarrass us with your ill training!"

"That is hardly fair!" Mrs. Bryant cried. "Claire and I tutored Lyra together! She is a Lady, she has excellent penmanship, can play the pianoforte quite well and her art is wonderful. She can dance perfectly through the forms, knows the language of fans perfectly. We taught her French and German, though she preferred French, didn't you Lyra?"

Lyra remained silent, did not meet Mrs. Bryant's eyes.

"Bah! What ever good work the two of you did was undone these last two years with Thomas Smith. She is darned near a savage!"

"Whose fault is that, Grandmama?" Joseph said archly, infuriated beyond belief, and beyond caution.

"Joseph," Cole growled at his son.

"No, Papa. Not only is Lyra my cousin, but she is going to be my wife, and as such she should be afforded a certain amount of respect!"

"Respect! Her mother was a whore!" Cole spluttered. "Lyra is a bastard! And after everything Smith had her doing -" He gestured to Lyra but did not finish his sentence.

_God. He just called me a whore, didn't he? Well, perhaps I am at that, giving myself so freely to William this past week. And I would have given myself to Tristan. Oh dear Lord, Tristan, how I need you now!_

"Respect," Cole repeated coldly. "She should just be grateful that we have taken her under our wing, that we have deigned to provide her with such a good match! And here she sits, all but crying again! Lyra, I should take my belt to you, thats what! Give you something to cry about!"

"I am grateful," Lyra whispered, saying the words they wished to hear for she did not want her uncle to beat her.

"No one is going to beat you with their belt, Lyra," Joseph said firmly, with a significant look at his father.

Cole lurched to his feet, his face livid.

"Do not presume, boy!" He bellowed. "She is not your wife yet! She is my charge now, and I will do with her as I wish, to bring her to this marriage!"

Lyra recoiled. Even Joseph leaned back from his father, his expression shocked. His father nodded, satisfied that he had put his son in his place, before turning his fury filled gaze on Lyra.

"You will not refuse him, Lyra. Is that understood?"

"Yes, uncle," still that soft whisper, her hands convulsed on her lap. "I understand and I will not refuse."

"Good," Cole said, somewhat startled. His sister had protested, had fought it. He was the head of the house even back then, their father had died some years before and Cole had indeed had to take his belt to Claire, even on the morning of her wedding, to force her to marry Mathan. He had expected more of a fight from his niece, who was the mirror image of his detestable sister. "Good, Lyra. I would not enjoy beating you, but I will do so if you make me."

"I will not give you reason to, Uncle."


	30. Chapter 30 - Dragoon's Quarters

**Chapter 30 - Dragoon's Quarters**

"Gather Miss Mathan's guard, Middleton, we shall ride over to the Simms manor and have you settled," Tavington said briskly, eager to be on his way. He had not seen Lyra for several hours and it was killing him.

Marriage, Tavington raged. To her own cousin of all people! It was common enough for the great houses to marry second and third cousins to each other, the Colonies did not have such a large pool of aristocrats to dip into, but first cousins! That was a rare thing indeed! But it was all settled, with three banns read! It had not been difficult to discover who she had been engaged to, and the wedding was to take place this Sunday! Events were spiraling out of his control and there was nothing he could do!

Unless he told Mr. Joseph Simms that he had coupled with Lyra, taken her virtue...

And destroy her in the process. Utterly ruin her. No, there must be another way. This wedding could not go ahead. It could not!

Finally they were on their way, he led the twenty Green Dragoons who would form Lyra's guard and keep her safe from the Ghost. He struggled to keep the horses at a steady pace, he wanted to set his heels in and ride, to gallop all the way to the Simms mansion. The men were already stepping lightly around him as it was, sensing his dark mood. He would not make a further spectacle of himself.

:::::::::

"These are to be the Dragoons quarters," the servant led Tavington to a corridor of small rooms on the second level of the mansion. He had not objections to the rooms themselves, the men were soldiers and used to sleeping on bedrolls. The small chambers were warmly furnished, had all the necessities. Guest rooms.

But they were no where near to Lyra. Mrs. Simms was not a military person, and she had no idea what the Ghost was capable of. Two rebels alone could hold the Dragoons here, as a distraction, while Martin spirited Lyra away. Five rebels would be all Martin needed, to take Tavington's lover captive, even with her twenty strong guard.

"Take me to Mrs. Simms," Tavington growled. "Now."

"Sir, Mrs. Simms has begun Miss Mathan's lessons, they are having one now -"

"Christ, she only just arrived here! And she's already at her lessons? She was awake all night grieving for a fallen friend, after a near brush with capture herself! What is her grandmother thinking?"

"Ah, Sir.. It is not my place..." The servant quailed under the Colonel's cold gaze.

"I suggest you answer him," Bordon said firmly.

"Ah, yes, well, the mistress... Mrs. Simms is giving a dinner party the evening soon. It is her wish that Miss Mathan perform at the pianoforte, but the girl has not had much practice of late."

Tavington rolled his jaw, trying to keep his irritation at bay as they strode the hallways to the large, airy parlor. He left the Dragoons behind, only Bordon and Michael Middleton accompanied him.

"Please wait here, Sir."

Tavington nodded curtly as the servant slipped inside. Leaning forward just so, he could see Lyra and his breath caught. His beautiful lover was dressed as the aristocratic young Lady he now knew her to be. Her silks, far finer than Katie Collins had provided her. He wondered how in the world they had altered a gown to fit her so perfectly in such a short time. Light grey silks, with dark grey embroidery intricately worked throughout. Her hair, worked intricately into plaits and curls, pinned with gold and silver and covered with a jewelled hairnet. She was exquisite. She wore a large red gem, a ruby, at her throat. Her locket was no where to be seen. As beautiful as she was, sitting at the pianoforte, there was a look of despair on her face as she played. Sorrow, bone deep, and Tavington felt a weight settle on his chest.

He tried to take his mind off her plight by concentrating on her playing. She was not bad, he had to admit, though clearly out of practice. Her grandmother stood at the window with her back to Lyra, her arms where behind her back and she held her long fan in a tight grip. His eyes shifted back to Lyra, his beautiful Lyra. He could see her red blotched cheeks from his vantage, she had been weeping. Her entire face was set in an expression of... Despair.

The servant approached Mrs. Simms, was waved off before he had a chance to speak. The woman turned back to the window, listening to Lyra's performance.

Lyra skipped a note. As swift as a striking snake, Rebecca whipped her fan up and slapped it smartly across Lyra's knuckles.

"Ow!" Lyra cried out, snatching her hand away and promptly burst into tears.

With a hiss, Tavington jerked the door open and marched in.

"Mrs. Simms!" He snapped.

"Sir!" Bordon breathed behind him, recalling the Colonel to himself as Rebecca jerked around to face him. Tavington drew in several ragged breaths, trying to get his rage under control.

"Colonel Tavington," Rebecca said coolly. "Have you inspected the rooms? Are they to your liking?"

He looked past her for the briefest moment, met Lyra's eyes. She bit her lip, her eyes swimming tears. She gasped and turned from him, her shoulders quivering as she tried to get her crying under control.

_I didn't abandon you, Lyra,_ Tavington sighed heavily. _I will get us out of this. But by Christ, how can I?_

"The rooms themselves," he drawled coolly, "I have no objection with. However, the men are not here to be quartered as guests, our purpose here is to protect Miss Mathan from a very real threat. Two rebels could hold that corridor, effectively hemming in the entire score of Dragoons while the Ghost, with two more rebels, could gain the family quarters and take Miss Mathan away."

Bordon and Middleton both nodded agreement.

Another woman he had not seen until he entered the room approached Lyra, Tavington recognised her from the farmhouse, Mrs. Eleanor Bryant. She leaned down to speak to Lyra but was rebuffed. Lyra lurched to her feet and, still with her back to them all, went to stand before the east bank of windows. Mrs. Bryant's expression was pained, she looked near to tears as she resumed her seat.

Hmm, interesting, the former Governess cared for Lyra after all. The younger woman was too deep in despair to see it, however.

"What do you suggest, Colonel?" Mrs. Simms asked.

_All your fault,_ Tavington thought savagely, suddenly furious once more. _Your bloody fault!_

"I do not suggest, Mrs. Simms," he said in a hard voice. "I command."

"I told you Grandmama," Joseph Simms said as he came into the parlor from behind Tavington. He nodded at the Colonel as he passed. "I tried to tell you, the Dragoons will need to be stationed closer to Lyra, within the family quarter itself."

Tavington held himself erect, stiff as a statue as the young man, Lyra's fiancé, went to stand by his betrothed.

Any second now, she will turn away from Joseph as she had from the others, as she had from Tavington himself. Any moment now...

Lyra remained at Joseph's side, she did not push his hand off when he placed it on her shoulder. William frowned, his tension mounting by the moment.

"There are not enough rooms -" Rebecca protested.

"Yes, there are," Joseph interrupted. "The Dragoons are soldiers, and as Colonel Tavington says, they are not here as guests." He turned to William, who gazed at the boy, his face as hard and cold as stone. "I assume you will not mind if the men share two, or even three to a room? Some of them would be large enough to hold four soldiers, if the truth be told."

"My men," Tavington tried, oh how he _tried_ to keep the ice out of his voice, the boy was supporting him, after all. But he would be wed to Lyra - _his_ Lyra! The boy's hand was on Lyra's shoulder, he dared to touch her! William quivered, and continued coolly, "are used to sleeping on bedrolls on the forest floor, boy. Sharing four to a room will prove no hardship for them."

"As I thought." The boy nodded, then turned to Lyra again, he leaned down to whisper something in her ear, his face filled with concern. Tavington saw her shrug listlessly, and the boy squeezed her arm in commiseration.

"How many empty rooms are there, in the family wing?" Tavington said sharply, tearing his eyes away. The boy had released Lyra's arm, it had been a gentle squeeze of reassurance, nothing more. Nothing more! He tried hard not to snarl.

"I have eight empty rooms," Rebecca said cautiously.

"Very good. You will escort me to the family quarter," Tavington was already moving toward the door, Rebecca had no choice but to follow. "I will choose a room for Miss Mathan, situated the best to protect her."

"Sir, Miss Mathan is already settled into her chamber -"

Tavington rounded on her abruptly, stopping her short. "Mrs. Simms," he began crisply, his face dark with fury. "Miss Mathan's security is my responsibility. She will sleep in the room I choose for her, with Dragoons around her. If I have any argument or opposition from you, I will have her removed from this house and take her to her own, where I can perform my duty more effectively, do you understand?"

Unused to such strict opposition, Rebecca stared, her eyes almost popping from her head.

"I will brook no nonsense from you, Mrs. Simms. I will not tolerate any unnecessary demands and I will certainly will not tolerate interference. Do - you - understand?"

"This was not the arrangement I decided on with Lord Cornwallis," she replied with carefully controlled outrage. "Dragoons in the family wing, for goodness sake!"

"What did you expect? That we would hide away in our chambers in the guest quarter, while Miss Mathan was unescorted in a house this large? Christ woman, the Ghost would have her before breakfast!"

He strode from her, without waiting for a reply, heading for the stairs. Once he reached the next landing, he marched down the corridors he knew must lead toward the family wing of the mansion. Rebecca caught up with him eventually, her expression was thoughtful beside him. If he could lead the way this far and head directly toward the family rooms without having been there before, it would be no difficult feat for the Ghost to reach as far into the mansion also.

Most wealthy families had town houses, or larger houses, manors, for when they stayed in Charles Town. Some of them had mansions, but on their plantations. Not the Simms. The mansion was huge, and could put some of those back home in England to shame.

"Our rooms are down the corridor there," Rebecca waved her arm. "Lyra's chamber is across from mine. Her Uncle and cousin are located in another corridor."

He headed down the hallway, opened Lyra's chamber and strode in as if he owned it. Rebecca pursed her lips, but she bit back her protest.

"No," Tavington said at once. "Mrs. Simms, this room is unacceptable for she is at the end of the corridor. I wish to place Dragoons on either side of Miss Mathan. Show me the empty rooms."

He whirled back into the hallway, it was only then that he saw Lyra had followed, her hand on Joseph's arm, her maid, Sally on the other side of her. Mrs. Bryant was standing further back, looking rather forlorn, still clearly on the outer. Lyra must be displeased with her former governess indeed.

He pinned her with his icy gaze, then glanced significantly at her hand on the boys arm, before meeting her gaze again, his eyebrows raised questioningly, his face cold and hard. She shrugged one shoulder and looked away, _without_ releasing the young man's arm.

Tavington bristled.

_She is displeased with me also, _he had to remind himself. _She thinks I've abandoned her._

Rebecca led the way further along the hallway, then began to open the doors of the empty chambers.

"Reserved for close family and special guests, Sir," she said coldly, her tone full of distaste.

"Which room has the largest closet? For Miss Mathan's maid." Tavington ignored her attempt to bait him, he was riled quite enough as it was.

"This one." She led the way to the chamber, halfway down the corridor.

Tavington inspected the large chamber, the adjacent closet was large enough for a small bed, a stool and a small table. Bordon went so far as to poke his head out of the window, and was satisfied no one could possibly scale the walls.

"Very well. Have Miss Mathan's belongings bought to this room," he commanded, every inch the Colonel. He strode out, then walked to the room next door, everyone following in his wake. "Yes, this will serve me nicely."

"Now see here!" Rebecca snapped. "I was not my understanding that you would be quartered here also!" There was no love lost between the two of them, they had clashed far too often. "Besides, the idea of having Dragoons take up rooms so close to Lyra's bed chamber is unacceptable! My granddaughters reputations is at stake and -"

"What did I say, not five minutes ago, Mrs. Simms?" Tavington cut in.

She glared, breathing heavily.

"Will you test my resolve, then?" He asked. When she snapped her mouth shut, he turned to Michael Middleton, the newly made Captain of Lyra's guard. "Middleton, three Dragoons per room, excepting for mine. There is to be a rotation of two guards at the entry point of this corridor at all times, and two on her chamber when Miss Mathan is present. Her room and the adjacent closet are to be checked thoroughly before she is allowed in. Arms are to be at hand at all times, in readiness. Remember, if the Ghost does come, then we will be given the opportunity to catch him."

"Am I bait again then?" Lyra asked softly at Joseph's side. "Is that why you are going to all this trouble? You hope he will come for me, so you will be able to capture him."

"You know fully well why I am going to all this trouble, Miss Mathan," he said sharply, his eyes boring into hers.

She shrugged listlessly and looked away from him again.

The Colonel tightened his lips and turned to Mrs Simms. "If you have rules, state them now. Keep in mind I will not suffer unnecessary demands or foolishness."

"If I must tolerate your presence within my own living quarters, then there are to be no women. No rowdy behaviour, no drinking, no harassing the servants -"

"The Green Dragoons are gentlemen, Mrs. Simms," Tavington's face had darkened and he interrupted the woman coldly. "They do not need lessons in manners or correct behaviour. I will not tolerate any suggestions to the contrary."

"Colonel Tavington, you are taking all of my control -"

"Yes, madam, I am. Miss Mathan's security is a military issue, and I have the command. As I said, if the arrangement does not suit you, we will take Mjss Mathan to her residence -" He glanced at Lyra, but she was staring off to her side, her eyes glazed.

"No!"

"I am pleased to hear it."

"I am going to lay down," Lyra said to Joseph. He nodded and without another word she walked away from them all, into the room that Tavington had chosen for her. Sally hung her head and followed after Lyra, shutting the door behind them both. Mrs. Simms curled her lip and went in another direction, to find a servant to begin the rearrangements.

"You will have to excuse Miss Mathan, Sir," Joseph was saying. "She had some very distressing news this afternoon and is not herself."

"No, she certainly is not," Tavington agreed. He eyed the young man up and down coldly and continued suggestively, "are you referring to her displeasure over your coming marriage, Mr. Simms, or has something else caused her distress?"

"Something else," Joseph said, a little sharply and strode away.

Tavington gazed thoughtfully at Lyra's door for a long moment.

Tonight, he would discover the truth of it tonight. It had been no accident, choosing the room that he did for Lyra, far away from her families rooms. And he would be right next door, with men he trusted watching over her. It would be no difficult thing to slide into her chamber once everyone had retired for the evening.

:::::::::::::

Lessons... Lyra had lost count of how many lessons she had had since her arrival to the manor the previous day. The latest lesson was the correct behavior while sitting to tea. How to hold the delicate teacup, when to take a sip, when to take a bite of food. She knew all of it already, having been tutored by her mother and Mrs. Bryant, and she found the lessons no hardship. The problem she had with them, was that they usually took place in the parlor. And as Tavington was residing at the mansion, and as he was born of an aristocratic family, Mrs. Rebecca Simms was hard pressed to send the Colonel away. And so Lyra had to endure these lessons in her _former_ lovers presence. She tried hard to ignore him.

"Grandmama," she said quietly after taking a sip a cup of tea. That function had to be performed just so. The cup placed on the saucer with no discernible clink, or Lyra would be admonished with a frown. Which was better than the fan cracking across her knuckles. She surreptitiously rubbed the top of her hand, the pain was immense, she had been struck so many times since the previous evening for her poor performance on the pianoforte. "I would like to visit my lawyer, to go over my... my fathers... my fathers... Will." she finished in a whisper, not meeting anyone's eyes.

When she had climbed into bed the evening before, she had curled into a ball and wept until Sally came to join her in her bed as she had always done when Lyra was distraught. Lyra had clung to her maid, her body racked with tears as Sally stroked her hair and whispered reassuring words. But nothing Sally said could comfort Lyra, not after learning she was a bastard, her true father was Thomas Smith, and she had committed incest. Oh, she had not known it, and it was not her choice - he had beaten her again and again until she did as he wished unprompted. But it was still incest and she was going to burn for it, in the fires of Hell.

She was already in the fires of Hell, however. How much worse can Hades actually be? Her beloved father was not her father after all. Her mothers happy marriage had not been so wonderful, at least not at first. Her beloved late grandfather was not hers, not by blood. Instead she was stuck with this detestable woman who seemed to despise her for her mother's sins and for the manner of her birth.

A bastard.

And Colonel Tavington had abandoned her, but then insists on residing in the room adjacent to hers. She had heard him speaking with her guard outside her room, when everyone else had retired. She had known he would come to her, and she had slipped out of the sleeping Sally's arms to hear what his response would be, when her guards told him he was not to be admitted.

_She pressed her ear to the door, her heart beat wildly, and she closed her eyes with despair when she heard his English drawl, his voice, that set her pulse to racing. _

_"What do you mean I can not go in?" He said sharply._

_"Sir, you have the command, of course," Michael Middleton said calmly. "If you order me to step aside, I will do so. But Miss Mathan asked me to not allow any to enter, you particularly. It is your right to supersede this request, Sir. Your orders?"_

_A long pause, and Lyra held her breath. _

_"I will leave her be, if that is her desire," William said calmly._

_"Very good Sir." _

_Lyra stumbled back to her bed and curled beside Sally, crying all over again. She was at everyone's mercy, she realised then. The mercy of her guard, who would give way to Tavington if the Colonel chose to exert his authority. She was at the mercy of her Uncle, and her grandmother. _

::

"Whatever for?" Rebecca said sharply. "Lord, Lyra. We have more than enough demanding our attention just now. You can wait until after the ball."

Lyra was silent a moment, having learned very early to chose her arguments with this woman with utmost care. This was important to her, however. She had been looking forward to seeing her family home since she began her journey to Charles Town, and now she had been in the town for a full day and a half and she had been kept away.

She drew a deep breath and chose a different tactic, one involving her cousin. He had been surprisingly supportive of her, defending her as much as he dared when he felt his father and their grandmother were being unfair.

"I think it might be a good idea for Joseph to see what is in the Will, don't you, cousin? It will be good to know exactly what we will be getting, and if it is true that we need to have sons or what other conditions there might be on the Trust."

"Yes, perhaps. I quite like your house, Lyra, it would be good to see where we will stand with the place. We should go and see your lawyer this afternoon. I was hoping we would move to your manor after we wed."

_He is as desperate to leave here as I am. _Lyra realised all of a sudden.

"Bah, listen to the both of you! Do you think Mr. Sampson has your father's Will to hand, Lyra? Foolishness. He will need a day or two organise it, you will not descend upon him unannounced! No, after the ball will do, and that is final. And what do you mean, you wish to live at Lyra's manor?" Rebecca turned her stern gaze upon her favourite grandchild. "Ridiculous! You will remain here."

Very quietly, under his breath, Joseph breathed, "the Hell we will."

Lyra shot him a shocked glance, and he held her gaze steadily until she nodded, understanding. Yes, he wished to leave also. This softened her toward him even further, the two were caught up in their families designs, and had no way out. At least they were of like mind, their marriage would bind them to each other but could free them from their family.

Tavington had watched the entire exchange, of course. His cold, steely gaze had been on her, his eyes chips of ice. He was as taut as a coiled spring, but she ignored him. He had abandoned her, and then come to her in the night! He was doing nothing to aid her, nothing, and he still thought he could come to her bed?

She tossed her head and returned his scowl with interest, suddenly furious.


	31. Chapter 31 - A Dinner Party

**Chapter 32 - A Dinner Party**

"Dear Lord!" Mrs. Rebecca Simms snapped. "You walk like an elephant!

Lyra closed her eyes for a long moment, sighing heavily. Another lesson, this time in deportment, again in front of Tavington. She was certainly _not_ walking like an elephant, her tread was light, her back erect, she was as graceful as her mother and Mrs. Bryant had taught her to be.

Mrs. Eleanor Bryant. Lyra opened her eyes and her chilly gaze landed on former governess for a moment.

_The little spy. _

"Again!" Rebecca snapped, then rounded on Eleanor. "Did you teach her nothing of deportment? She should be able to glide across the room." She waved her arm in an airy, graceful movement to demonstrate. "Waft like the wind!"

Lyra began another walk from one end of the room to the other, turned and walked back again. Up and down, up and down.

"Now you finally understand!" Rebecca said as she watched her granddaughter. "Much better, you are almost gliding now. Lord, it is like trying to teach a monkey."

Even with her praise she gave insults, but Lyra was learning quickly - not the lessons her grandmother gave her for she already knew all of it, but how to let the woman's insults wash off of her like water from a ducks back. It had been very difficult at first, but she had enough practice now, not to take too much to heart.

She walked the length of the room again, at her grandmother's insistence and her eyes alighted on Tavington's quite by accident. He watched her intently, but she wrenched her gaze away, it hurt too much to look at him, too much to even be near him. Unfortunately, he seemed to make every excuse to be at the mansion, and as he was an aristocratic, a Gentleman of high birth, he could not be ignored. He was invited to dine with them for every meal if he was present, and was always in the parlor whenever Lyra was.

Finally, Lyra was permitted to sit down, she chose a seat on a large sofa beside her cousin, constantly aware of Tavington's eyes on her.

"When is your friends funeral, Lyra?" Joseph asked. She had spent a lot of time with her betrothed over the last day and a half and the two had rekindled and strengthened their childhood ties. Not that Lyra had been permitted to spend much time in the older Joseph's company when they were growing up, though she had never understood why back then. Come to think of it, she had never even thought to question the why of it, for she had Tristan, and Emily Robinson and a few other's who formed up their little gang of mischief doers.

"I received word from Mrs. Collins earlier today and Tristan's funeral is to be held tomorrow morning." Lyra said in the quiet voice she spoke with. She barely spoke above a whisper now, not wanting to draw attention to herself or be accused of being too loud, like a monkey or an elephant or some other wild animal of her grandmother's choosing.

"I wish to attend with you, if you don't mind? I know you and he were... close," Lyra was certain only she had noticed his hesitation. She had confided to Joseph that Tristan had wished to marry her, and that Lyra had returned the sentiment.

Of course, she had not confided to him anything of her relations with Colonel Tavington.

"Yes, of course. You knew him well, did you not? You should come and pay your respects to -"

"Respects!" Rebecca frowned. "What respect do we owe them? The Collins are nothing, barely worthy of our consideration. Our only connection to them was through your parents who lived next door to them. I would not even invite them to the ball at all if not for that. You know that Mr. Bradley Collins beds his maids? And Mrs. Collins... Katie... I heard it from a very reliable source that she had a lover recently. Despicable, the both of them."

Lyra felt a chill along her spine. She had a sixth sense for danger these days, and she knew before Rebecca even spoke the words that she would forbid Lyra from attending the funeral, for her grandmother clearly disliked the Collins family.

"Have you written your excuses to them yet, Lyra? We must observe the formalities, even with a detestable family such as the Collins."

"Ah, no, Grandmama. I... I thought I would attend..." Rebecca's eyes narrowed dangerously and Lyra plowed on. "And I wrote back earlier, accepting their -"

"You what!" Rebecca's voice rose several octaves as outrage took hold of her. "You will do not such thing! We have dress fittings, more training, you have several invitations from respectable families, one from the Middleton's who are hosing a picnic tomorrow! You will attend that, not this funeral! Bah! There is so much to do before the ball, so many social events to attend, we must choose with care which we accept and which we decline. You will send your apologies to the Collins -"

"Grandmama! Tristan was my closest friend! I must go to his funeral!"

"And let us not forget," Tavington said coolly in a disinterested tone, "that Corporal Collins, a Green Dragoon, died in the line of duty while protecting Miss Mathan as did Max Simpson. I believe it would look poorly, Mrs. Simms, if Miss Mathan does not attend their funerals after they gave their lives for her."

Lyra's hands twisted on her lap and she began to breathe raggedly, as she always did when Tavington spoke. His voice, his very presence - it was difficult to think when he was near. A soft voice in the back of her mind pointed out that this was not the first time that her _former_ lover had spoken on her behalf, but she stifled the traitorous thought, pushed it aside and embraced the grief instead. Grief and despair were easier to deal with than hope which was always followed by disappointment.

"Well..." Rebecca hesitated. It would look poorly indeed, if there was no representative from the Simms family at the funerals, especially when the men had, indeed, died while protecting Lyra. Her lips thinned with displeasure, they really were too busy for this just now! Lyra needed to have her face shown where it mattered, not weeping at some dead soldiers grave. "I see your point, Colonel Tavington. Joseph, you will attend all the funerals of those Dragoons who gave their lives to protect Lyra. As her future husband, this should be more than acceptable."

"What of me?" Lyra asked in a small voice. "Tristan's funeral? Please, it won't take long, I'm certain, and we were such good friends and -"

"No, you will attend Mrs. Middleton's picnic, Joseph will join us when he can."

"Grandmama, Mrs. Middleton will not mind if Lyra is a little late -"

"Dear Lord, not you too Joseph! No, she will obey! You will attend the funerals, Lyra will attend the picnic. Now silence both of you, I will hear no more of it!"

"I need to lie down," Lyra whispered, rising from her chair.

"Such a delicate flower you are," Rebecca shook her head with derision, as her granddaughter walked from the room.

Lyra barely heard her, barely registered her two Dragoon guards falling in behind her as she made her way up the stairs to her bedchamber.

:::::::::

_Christ, she's beautiful._

Tavington gazed across the dinner table, his eyes drinking in the sight of Lyra, who sat quietly beside her cousin. It was clear to him that she was letting the conversation flow around her, barely speaking, barely listening. Her cousin stepped in for her more often than not, Lyra adding a little bit here and there when she absolutely had to.

It did not surprise him in the slightest, her silence, her reluctance to be at the dinner party at all. According to Michael Middleton, Lyra was treated quite poorly indeed at the picnic hosted by the Middleton's the previous day. Tavington had not attended, he had been neglecting his duties as it was, Lyra's plight had consumed him entirely.

The Middleton's and the other families at the picnic had been cordial enough, even welcoming. It was her grandmother and her Uncle, their constant snide remarks and glares that had begun to wear Lyra down. Middleton had informed him later that Captain Wilkins Lady mother had been quite disgusted with the way Lyra had been treated and halfway through the picnic Mrs. Wilkins had rounded up a group of girls to take Lyra away from her family and try to raise the girls spirits.

The damage had been done, however, and now Lyra quailed under the attention of those around her. The Middleton's were present this evening, as were the Wilkins and some of other prominent Loyalist families. Cornwallis was present, though he was further along the table - seated right in the middle as was appropriate for the guest of honor.

Tavington sat with two young and beautiful women on either side of him, sisters Emily and Alice Robinson. Alice was lively enough but Emily was as quiet and as unhappy as Lyra. It took all his skill to keep the conversation flowing, Alice helping him quite admirably. Joseph, sitting across from them at Lyra's side, did his best but Tavington noticed the boy seemed a little quieter this evening also, even melancholy. That was the last thing the Colonel needed right now, but there was no help for it. And so Miss Alice Robinson and Tavington entered into several lively debates, hoping to draw the others in.

Mr. Wilkins, James Wilkins father, sat on the other side of Lyra. He had, by Middleton's report, helped Mrs. Middleton to keep Lyra's Uncle away from Lyra the previous day at the picnic, by keeping the man engaged in conversation.

"Miss Mathan," the Senior Wilkins asked. "I am told you will be playing the pianoforte a little later on, I look forward to it."

Lyra smiled politely, and a little sickly - obviously very nervous about having to play before all these strangers. He had heard Rebecca admonish Lyra for her terrible playing, and the girl seemed to believe she would make a fool of herself. In Tavington's opinion, she had grown quite accomplished indeed after the grueling lessons and training her grandmother had forced her to these last few days.

Tavington tightened his lips, remembering the first time he had seen Lyra's hand struck with her grandmothers fan. Such rage he had felt, but that, unfortunately, had been only the beginning. More cracks across her knuckles, and so many insults about her poor performance and the Colonel was ready to throw his lover over his shoulder and carry her from the mansion.

Impossible, of course. Cornwallis would have had a conniption, if Tavington were to do anything of the sort, but the Colonel was beginning to believe that the only way to stop this farce of a wedding would be to do exactly that.

"You must be looking forward to the wedding, Miss Mathan, how exciting," Mrs. Wilkins, James mother, sat on the other side of Emily, across from Lyra.

"Yes, indeed," Lyra's response. Very proper, very polite.

"I do hope the weather holds out, will it be an outside wedding, or indoors?"

"Indoors, I believe."

"Yes, in the ballroom," Joseph continued. "Grandmama says it will hold all the attendees perfectly."

"_All_ the attendees? How many people are coming?" Lyra asked, a little aghast.

"A few, cousin," Joseph said sympathetically. Lyra seemed to deflate and Joseph leaned in to whisper something.

_Christ, can we stop speaking of the damned wedding!_ Tavington curled his lip with irritation.

"Colonel Tavington," Wilkins Senior addressed him. "This attack from the Ghost, Sir. At the Collins' plantation? Must have come as quite a surprise to you."

Ah, safe ground, finally. Tavington nodded and those in the immediate vicinity listened closely as William described the attack.

"Oh, you must have been dreadfully scared, Miss Mathan," Emily said. Tavington's eyebrows shot up with surprise, the girl had barely spoken at all before now.

"I was," Lyra admitted. "It was terrifying. And cold and wet - there had been a terrible storm the day before -"

"Oh, yes, it was dreadful here also - I am terrified of thunder and lightening," Alice said. "What of you Colonel, are you terrified of thunder and lightening?"

"Ah... No," he said with a ghost of a smile.

"Nor am I," Emily said. "I love storms."

"Me too," Lyra said. "My maid Sally and I always sat on my bed watching from my bedroom window, we'd count -"

"The seconds between the flash of lightening and the thunder?" Emily asked excitedly. "Did you count them the other night?"

"Ah..." Lyra's eyes flickered toward Tavington, that was the night he had his fever, and that very vivid hallucination. "No..."

"Three seconds! The ones that were dead above our house - the lightening must have been close indeed."

"Oh, don't say it, Emma," Alice leaned around Tavington to address her sister. "I am getting chills just thinking about it."

"Miss Robinson," Joseph addressed Emily, "Do you remember the picnic we had a few months ago - we got caught out in that dreadful storm. I seem to recall you were not so fond of lightening and thunder then," his tone was teasing.

"Yes, I... I do remember..." She blushed and lowered her gaze. "They are not nearly so much fun when one is out of doors."

"At least you were tucked up nice in your bed for the last storm," Lyra said. "The bulk of the Green Dragoons were in flimsy tents, right in the thick of it!"

"Dear Lord!" Alice turned to Tavington. "It is a good thing you are not frightened of storms, Sir, if you had to sleep outside in one of those tents."

"No, I had a room in the manor," Tavington caught Lyra's eyes again, and was chagrined to see her face turn white and she jerked her gaze away.

"That storm," Mrs. Wilkins frowned. "It destroyed my roses, utterly. They were coming in so nicely, as well!"

"Mamma spends most of her free time at her gardening," James smiled. "Which is most of the time."

"It is my passion, I will own. Do you garden, Miss Mathan?" Mrs. Wilkins asked.

"No, Mrs. Wilkins," Lyra said quietly, seeming to withdraw once more. Tavington sighed with frustration, she had just been coming out of herself again, but the reminder of their time together was too much for her.

"Miss Robinson does," Joseph said. "I believe her roses were set to compete with yours this year, Mrs. Wilkins."

"Its a good thing the storm destroyed them then, isn't it?" Mrs. Wilkins said smartly, then she laughed. "Now, no one will ever know."

"There is always next year," Joseph teased. "Miss Robinson - will you try them again, next season?"

"Yes, I believe I will," she blushed again, before assuming an expression of melancholia to match Lyra's. Joseph sighed heavily, and began picking at his food, the three of them falling quiet as the rest of the group continued speaking.

Interesting... Tavington watched all three of them thoughtfully, his suspicions roused.

::::::::::

Talk turned to the war, again, as it always did during such troubled times. Especially with soldiers in their midst.

"And I thank the dear Lord above that my James was not hurt," Mrs. Wilkins said fervently. "To think, two attacks from the rebels in only a few days and we were none the wiser. I detest that I am curled up safely in my bed while my son's life is in peril! James, you must promise me to be careful!"

"Mamma," James rolled his eyes.

"Oh, leave him be, he is a grown man," Wilkins senior turned to Tavington. "Women, honestly! I do not think she ever expected any of our children to grow up, to become men. I could not be more proud of my James, I must say."

"He is an exemplary soldier," Tavington said truthfully. "We have been hard pressed by the rebel militia, and Captain Wilkins has been stalwart, even in the face of the rebels strict discipline."

"I suppose that is one good thing about these rebels," Joseph said. "That they don't lack discipline. I hear they keep their weapons in perfect condition, which is good for us, isn't it? A nick from a dirty weapon could kill you even if the wound itself was minor," Joseph trailed off as all eyes turned to him. He continued, a little less certain of himself. "Perhaps that is not truly a good thing, but it seems they keep their weapons in good order, not dirtied... You just have to survive being stabbed," he muttered, feeling every bit the fool.

"Yes, they are disciplined," surprisingly, it was Tavington that came to his rescue. "And you are quite correct, Mr. Simms. Benjamin Martin keeps a tight rein on his men, he does indeed ensure their weapons are in perfect condition. Sir, that is the second time you have made an observation I would expect only a soldier to make."

"Oh?" Joseph brightened, somewhat proudly. "What was the other?"

"When I first arrived at your grandmother's home," his lips twisted with distaste, "you had already identified the problem with where Mrs. Simms had quartered the Dragoons. You told her we were too far from Miss Mathan to protect her effectively and needed to be closer."

"Ah.. Yes... Well, our great grandfather was a military man, wasn't he Lyra?"

Lyra shrugged listlessly, not raising her eyes.

"He served in the French and Indian wars, he was a Colonel and used to tell me stories - I think I was the only one interested enough to listen, for my father certainly wasn't."

"No, your father is not a military man," Tavington snorted. "Have you considered joining the war effort?"

"Yes, I have but I was... ah... convinced not to..." Joseph shot a glance at Emily, a very quick glance but Tavington caught it. So did Lyra, it seemed. Her eyes grew large with sudden understanding, and she gazed at Emily who blushed. "A... friend... convinced me otherwise."

"Perhaps you should reconsider," Captain Wilkins said, blithely ignorant of the undercurrents playing around him. "If your father will allow it -"

"I am my own man, Sir," Joseph flared up instantly. "I would have joined long since if not for..." A 'not quite' glance toward Emily. "But I believe I will consider it now. Lyra, what do you think?"

"I -"

"You can't!" Emily burst out, then blushed furiously as those in the immediate vicinity fell quiet. "I... that is... Of course... It's your decision and... And Miss Mathan's... I think I need some air."

She lurched to her feet, and Joseph rose also. Alice went after her sister right away and Lyra halted Joseph from doing the same, she stood beside him and put her hand on his arm, restraining, whispering furiously. William caught snatches of their conversation.

"... Can't, Joey!"

"She's upset... Must go..."

"Let me. No, Joey, ...not be appropriate... Allow me, we used to be friends once, Emily and I."

With that, Lyra glided away from the dinner table - she was getting good at that, at gliding, and Joseph took his place again.

An embarrassed hush fell, until James Wilkins spoke up.

"So... Fort Carolina!"

"Yes, Cornwallis wishes us to leave in three weeks..."

::::::::::::::::

After a short time, the ladies returned and resumed their seats, and the conversation continued as though nothing untoward had happened.

"Is she alright, Lyra?" Joseph whispered his question.

"No. She is in love with you. Why didn't you tell me, Joey? I told you about Tristan!"

"Not about Colonel Tavington, however. And I believe that is where your heart truly lies," Joseph answered gently, even still, Lyra paled. "And I believe he returns the sentiment, judging by his behavior. It would explain much."

"Is it so obvious?"

"At times, yes."

"Joseph, she told me you asked her father permission to marry her! Emily and I discussed it at length and we realise it all comes down to you now. I can not refuse you," she shuddered, almost feeling the whisper of her Uncle's belt on her backside, "but _you_ could refuse me, with no repercussions to either of us! Then you would be free to marry Emily and I would be free to..."

She cut short, suddenly wondering exactly what she would do if she were free. Resume her relations with William? Did he still want her? She caught his eyes across the table, he was frowning as though trying to listen to hers and Joseph's furiously whispered conversation.

"You fail to understand Grandmama's resolve, I'm afraid," Joseph smiled bitterly. "Father was pleased that I had chosen Emily, but then... Something happened, I do not know what. And both Grandmama and Father sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms that I would be marrying you, or I would be cut off, set adrift. No inheritance, nothing."

"Why?" Lyra gasped, then cast a quick look around, but no one was paying any attention except Tavington. And Emily of course, she was waiting with bated breath - all of her hopes for a marriage with her beloved Joseph were pinned on Lyra convincing him to end their engagement. Lyra lowered her voice even further, anyway. "It does not make any sense. They hate me, for parentage, for my mother's defiance!"

"I know, it not does not make any sense to me either. Lyra, I know you are struggling with this, but we really have no choice. You have to obey Papa, and if I don't obey then I will be cut off. How could I provide for Emily with no means to speak of?"

"Join the army?" Lyra said desperately. "Joseph, I think William and Captain Wilkins were about to offer you a place in the Dragoons!"

"Do you really think so?" He said, excitedly.

"I do think! I will even speak on your behalf, if you wish it," Lyra offered. Joseph smiled wistfully, hanging on Lyra's every word. "You do not want this marriage any more than I do, we are both in love with other people! You can set us both free, you can -"

"I can't Lyra," he said finally, unwilling to defy his father and be disinherited. "Even if I did become a soldier, would Mr. Robinson allow his daughter to marry such? Not unless he had a substantial inheritance."

"Joey..." Lyra tried one last time. "I can't free us, only you can -"

"No, I can't. I am sorry," he shook his head, and Lyra's brief burst of excitement melted away. She stared at him sadly for several long moments, then turned to Emily, and shook her head imperceptibly. Emily, who had placed her hopes in Lyra, hung her head. Tavington, sensitive to their plight though he could not have heard Lyra and Joseph's discussion, bent his head to Emily, speaking quietly to help cover her distress from the other diners.

"I can't do this," Joseph said, rising abruptly. "Please excuse me." He strode away from the table.


	32. Chapter 32 - Punishment

**Chapter 32 - Punishment**

"Lyra was so certain, Sir!" Emily whispered. As soon as Emily had hung her head and begun to cry, Colonel Tavington had leaned in to whisper to her, to help her hide her tears from the nearby diners. "I told her how much Joseph and I love each other, and Lyra felt sure that if she spoke to Joseph she could convince him to end their betrothal so he could marry me after all. He asked my father permission, did you know?"

"No, Miss Robinson, I didn't know," Tavington murmured.

"I know he loves me and she is in love with someone else, though she did not say who," Emily despaired. "Why can't we all just marry who we wish to?"

"She mentioned she loves another?" Tavington asked carefully, casting a quick glance at Lyra, who was speaking quietly with Mr. Wilkins Senior.

"Yes, but it is hopeless. She said he does not want her, would not fight for her. She said that she thought he would help her but he has not so far, for he has abandoned her. So when I told her of my feelings for Joseph she thought that changing Joseph's mind was our last chance."

"She said that, did she?" He asked a little sharply. "That she thinks he has abandoned her?" Lyra expected him to rescue her, to take her away from all of it. And he was sore tempted to do exactly that, but how in the world? He could not do it without earning the ire of the Simms family, which would have a devastating ramifications on his career _and_ his personal life.

"Oh, you mustn't tell, please Sir? I've broken a confidence!"

"On my honor I'll not repeat a word," he swore the vow distractedly, his cold gaze fixed on Lyra.

Did she think it was easy for him? To have to watch as she sat by her cousin, who she was becoming increasingly reliant on as a confidant. He had to watch while they strolled through the gardens on the manor grounds, and when they took meals together. This boy, who in less than three days time, would be wed to Lyra.

Would _bed_ with Lyra, for the marriage would have to consummated, after all.

His grip on the delicate crystal wine glass tightened, near to breaking.

Unpleasant thoughts indeed.

But the idea of her marrying someone else - anyone else but him...

Christ.

Lyra turned toward him, meeting his gaze, and Tavington's heart lurched to see _resignation_, in her eyes before she pulled her gaze away once more.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Emily whispered, and Tavington raised his eyebrows in question. "It's you, isn't it? I didn't see it before, because of my own troubles but... I'm right, aren't I?"

Tavington hesitated, then sighed heavily and drained his glass in one long pull.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. Then she leaned closer, her eyes bright with excitement. "It's up to you then! Sir, you could release us all! It's torment, it must be for you, also! We are powerless to stop it, but you -"

"Are a high ranking soldier in His Majesty's army, but I have no authority over Lyra," he said firmly, cutting the girls hopes cleanly.

"Oh."

"You don't understand, do you?" He asked her quietly. "Yes, I love her. But what right do I have over her? The Simms are a powerful family and have influence over Cornwallis. If they decide I've interfered in any way, or if I try and simply take her - and believe me I'm sorely tempted - my career could be destroyed, my livelihood, gone." He was uncertain as to why he decided to confide in the girl, perhaps it was the easy, earnest way about her. Or perhaps it was their shared misery.

"Then you can do nothing? In less than three days -"

"Christ, don't say it," he muttered, in a moment of weakness.

"Sir... Please... What can we do? You must have a trick up your sleeve."

"I'm sorry Miss Robinson. I've racked my brains and... I just don't," he held his glass out to be filled, then held Emily's glass also. She needed a good strong wine, not the watered down stuff the women were supposed to drink. He handed her the glass with a small smile. "You and I will marry," he said, watching with amusement as her eyebrows climbed her forehead. "Mr. Simms will become a Green Dragoon, and we shall all leave for Fort Carolina. And every evening, as carefully and as quietly as ghosts, Mr. Simms and I will swap bedchambers."

A loud peel of laughter burst from Emily, her eyes now bright with tears of mirth, instead of sadness. Some of the nearby diners cast them speculative looks, including Lyra.

"Oh... You are too funny, sir," she tittered. "To suggest resorting to adultery as our solution! Remind me never to come to you for rescuing again, will you?"

Tavington's smile broadened and he clinked his glass against hers in salute.

:::::

"Colonel Tavington?" Mrs. Bryant approached him. "Sir, might I have a word?"

"Of course," the Colonel, had been heading back to his room after being rebuffed by Lyra's guards who stood at her door. His own Dragoons had turned him away, yet again - the fourth night running.

He turned and walked with Mrs. Bryant to a quiet alcove at the far end of the corridor. The woman was near to tears.

"Oh, Sir, can't you speak to her on my behalf? I love her dearly, and never meant to betray her but she thinks... She thinks I _have_ betrayed her, and she will not speak to me, will barely even look at me! She does not want this marriage, is there nothing you can -"

"Mrs. Bryant," he said sternly. "What do you suggest I do, exactly? Her Uncle is the head of her family, he could ruin my career in a heartbeat if I dare to intervene. The only ones who can end this engagement are Miss Mathan and her betrothed." He curled his lip with disgust.

Betrothed. Cock and balls.

"What can we do then? Nothing? Let her marry -"

"Arranged marriages are the foundation of our society, Mrs. Bryant," Tavington said, though he hated admitting it now, when it was his lover that was being forced to wed.

"Sir -"

"Look," he snapped, out of patience. "Short of throwing her over my shoulder, there is nothing I can do! Now, if you do not mind, I have suffered several very long, disappointing days, and would like to seek my blankets."

"Sir, please - can't you at least speak to her on my behalf?"

"Woman, she will not even speak to me! I am as much on the outer now, as you are. She blames me, though I do not know how she has come to the conclusion that it is my fault, for who can know the twists and turns of a woman's mind?"

Mrs. Bryant sighed heavily.

"Perhaps I will speak to Sally, she is still in Lyra's good graces -"

"And will remain that way only if we do not try to involve her," Tavington said firmly. "Mrs. Bryant, Lyra needs at least one friend, and in her slave she has one and in her cousin she has another. You will not ask Sally to speak for your behalf for it may very well cause Lyra to send her maid away from her. No. We will see what happens next, there are still three days before this bloody farce of the wedding."

"So the rumours are true? You are in love with her."

"Rumours?" Tavington's tone took on a dangerous edge. "Have the Simms family heard of any rumours?"

"I do not know, but I can only assume they have. Tell me, what was dinner like? And the after, in the parlor before everyone left?"

Of course, as a former governess, Mrs. Bryant had not been invited to enjoy the festivities.

"A disaster. Lyra was so quiet after dinner in the parlor, that half the invitees believe she is overly shy or daft, the other half think she is a snob. And later, when she was to play at the pianoforte. I believed she did quite well, you have done her credit, you and her mother's teachings. But Mrs. Simms was ruthless, upbraiding her performance for being lacking, right there before their peers. It was a disgusting display, one I do not care to see repeated."

"Oh, its as bad as I thought then. They are horrid to her."

"Mrs. Bryant, when we first arrived here, Joseph Simms told me that Lyra had received some devastating news, or something to that effect. Would you know what it is?"

"I shouldn't say..."

"If you know," he leaned in close, his eyes ice, his face stone. "You WILL tell me."

Mrs. Bryant recoiled, drew a ragged breath, and told him what had upset Lyra.

"Thomas Smith was her natural father, Sir. She is his daughter."

Tavington reeled with shock. "His daughter, you say?" He asked quietly. A moments pause, and he recovered himself, outwardly at least. With a curt nod, he strode away, back to his room. "Christ, she's Thomas Smith's bastard?"

It explained much, why the family - the grandmother and uncle, seemed to despise her so utterly. It was still a puzzle to him, however, why the were forcing this match. The puzzle only became more cloudy now, learning of Lyra's unfortunate parentage.

:::::::::::::::::::

For the fourth night, Lyra lay in a ball, curled up next to Sally, crying herself to sleep.

"I do not like it here, Lyra," Sally whispered against her mistresses hair, her arms holding Lyra close. "Not at all. Why can't we just leave?"

"And go where?" Lyra sniffled. "To my manor? My Uncle will only drag me back, he might even beat me. Dear Lord, its torture!"

Over come with tears once more, she buried her head against Sally's chest.

"Them Green Dragoons, they could take us where ever you want to go. They are loyal to you, I know it and they -"

"Will not. How can they? They would be ousted from the army, Cornwallis would be furious!"

Realisation shot through her and she gasped, sitting up and scrubbing at her tears with the back of her hand.

"Thats why..."

"Why what?"

"Why William has not intervened," Lyra shot a glance over her shoulder toward Sally. "Of course, I did not see it before... I thought..."

"Hmm?"

"That he had abandoned me. That he did not love me after all. But he can't do anything because he has no right, no authority over me. If he tried to take me away, his career would be dashed to the wind."

"Then... What can you do? Is there no one who can help?"

"There is no one else, Sally! I thought that Joseph might, but he fears he will be disinherited. He was my last hope. I can not break the engagement for Uncle Cole can and will beat me. William can't for he has no authority and it could destroy his career. But Joseph... He could! He could do it, but he won't! Poor Emily, she is in despair."

"So are you, Lyra! And Mrs. Bryant -"

"Do not speak to me of Mrs. Bryant!" Lyra said sharply, moving away from the bed. "Grandmama, what a dragon!" She said as she pulled on a night robe. "She was horrid this evening. I only missed a key or two. I think that Miss Middleton gave a far worse showing of herself and no one said a single word. For why would they? But as soon as I made a mistake, that horrid woman jumped down my throat! She is detestable."

"Where are you going?"

"To apologise to William and tell him I finally understand."

"You can't go to his room!" Sally was aghast. "Write him a letter, I will slip it under his door!"

Lyra hesitated, then sighed reluctantly. She sat at her little desk and wrote a letter to William, explaining she understood finally and she was sorry she had not realised it earlier. She wrote of her continued love for him, and how desolate she was without him. Sally took the sealed letter, slipped from the room only to return moments later.

"I slipped it beneath the door then knocked," Sally said as she got back into Lyra's bed. "He was opening the door as I came back in here, so we know he got it."

"Good. Thank you."

Both women lay back on the pillows and sighed.

"I hate it here," they whispered in unison.

Not long later, a knock was sounded on Lyra's door, and a note was slipped beneath. Sally gasped and jumped out of the bed, but Lyra was quicker. She snatched the parchment up and began reading immediately.

_"My darling angel, thank you for your note, though I would rather you were slipped into my room than a note slipped beneath my door. I understand these last few days have been traumatic for you, think nothing of it, my darling. We still have three days to work this out, and I can not believe that fate would be so cruel to bring you to me only to snatch you away again. If there is a way to have you released from this marriage, my beautiful angel, I will find it, and we will be together. Forever yours, William."_

Lyra held the letter to her chest and climbed into bed again, and for the first time in days, she fell into a soundless sleep.

::::::::::

"We need to know if we are wasting our time here, lad," Danvers said to the young Redcoat sitting across from him. "Ben is worried. He thinks if she is to be wed to Simms, then perhaps she is not the key to Tavington after all."

"No, capture her and you will have the Butcher, I assure you," the young Green Dragoon said, his tone decisive. "Every night he comes to her, sometimes even twice a night when the guard on her door is rotated. I have turned him away myself and though he leaves, I can see his fury and jealousy. There are twenty of us in her guard now, and the men gossip - they all agree that Tavington is in love with her."

"Can you bring her out, take her from the mansion?"

"No, Danvers. Excepting for myself and the other spy, the men of Miss Mathan's guard are more loyal to her than Tavington now, all eighteen are ready to lay down their lives for her. I don't know why, she's likable enough but she's managed to somehow curl eighteen hardened soldiers around her little finger. Perhaps it's her beauty or the bittersweet drama of it all -"

"Perhaps she's dropped to her knees and sucked each of their cocks except for yours," Danvers smirked.

The young Dragoon laughed. "Perhaps that's it. Shit, I wish she would. I'd keep her for myself and tell you to take a flying leap - you and Ben both!"

The two shared another laugh.

"How about the ball -"

"Danvers, I tried to tell you, Tavington has tightened security. There will be two score Dragoons watching her every movement, she will not be out of sight for a second, not after what you all managed to pull in the harbour at the _last_ ball."

"Yes, I thought as much, Tavington is no fool - I'll give him that."

"Our best hope is to try and take her after the wedding, after the ball. Mrs. Simms has Miss Mathan's days full for now, she's not allowed to go anywhere."

"Hmm, but after the ball... Oh well, there is no help for it. I'll stay here, lay low. This basement here in Charles Town is preferable to bloody Black Swamp."

"Shit, you've gone back there?" The Redcoat said, surprised. "I thought Ben would stay far away after Tavington scouted the area."

"You don't know the temerity of the man. Thinks its the best hiding spot now that Tavington has already searched it -"

"- he won't search again?" The Redcoat laughed. "I'm impressed. You do know it was Miss Mathan who told Tavington that the Patriot Militia were hiding in Black Swamp, don't you?"

Danvers whistled. "No, I did not know that. Well. Isn't that interesting? And Reverend Oliver wants us to go easy on the lass, wants to save her or some shit. Tell me, boy - what really happened that night, when Smith hit Lyra's guard? Did he really confess to Oliver about having the girl in his bed for years?"

"Yeah, he did. He came straight for us, though he avoided attacking me, he knew that I'm a Patriot and did nothing to interfere with my task. But he took Miss Mathan and afterward he beat her, and told Oliver... Yeah, as far as I can make out, he went to her bed every night and got her to fist him."

"Christ, he was a sick bastard," Danvers scoffed. "Can't say I'd really blame him though, I can't wait to get a turn with her."

"Is Ben going to share her? I though he wanted her for himself."

"Yeah, I think he does, but he won't always be there in camp, will he? I'll have a go with her, and I'll threaten to cut her throat if she tells old Ben. The Butcher had my Claire raped!"

"I'm real sorry, Danvers, I wish I could have stopped that," the Redcoat lied. He had had a go with Danver's wife, himself. Though he would never admit it to Danvers.

"Yeah," the Patriot sighed heavily. "You'd have been killed lad, and blown your cover too... For nothing. You're valuable right where you are."

"I suppose I am. Speaking of which, I better head back. I'm on rotation soon."

"You should go into her room and give her a decent finger banging."

"It'd certainly cheer her up a bit!" The Redcoat smiled. He waved farewell and headed out of the basement, through this house, mounted his horse and rode all they way back to the Simms mansion where he took up his position on Lyra's door, no one the wiser.

:::::::::::

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" Lyra asked hesitantly at Cole's Office door. It was barely eight o'clock in the morning, and she had already been summoned to her Uncle! It worried her, it was usually her grandmother who summoned her, for her lessons.

"Come in," he said bluntly, "shut the door."

Lyra did as she was told, stepping deeper into the room apprehensively, for she could sense the man's anger.

"So. Trying to talk Joseph into ending your engagement, are you?" He asked without preamble.

"I... I'm sorry?"

"You're trying to get him to release you from this marriage!" Cole snapped sharply.

"How... I..." Lyra paused, her heart pumping wildly. "I did not try -"

"At dinner last night, you stupid girl!"

"Sir!" Lyra gasped, panic setting in. Her Uncle was watching her, his eyes cold angry, full of violence. She knew the signs, having seen the same gleam in Thomas Smith's eye so any times, and in William's also.

"Servants are not just there to pour wine!" He bellowed. "They are there to watch, to listen! And," he continued ominously. "To report back to me."

The blood drained from Lyra's face as she tried to remember everything she had said at dinner. Cole smiled cruelly, gazing at her over steepled fingers.

"Yes, you stupid child. I know of your entire conversation, your attempt to sway my son in releasing you from this marriage. I know you tried to console Emily Robinson, even confessing to her of your love of another man. Colonel Tavington, I know now, for he confessed as much to Emily during the meal. Furthermore," he came around the desk, his face twisted with fury as he advanced on her. "I know all about your affair, your dalliance! I know that you coupled with him, that you have been fucking him all week!"

"Uncle," she breathed, terror whipped away her words, she was unable to say anything more.

"You stupid child! Servants talk!" He grabbed her arm and she squealed as she was pushed forward, she hit the desk with a heavy 'thump'. "Even servants - and maids - from other households will give information for the right price!"

_Cassie_... The name came to Lyra even through her terror. Cassie, Katie's maid, had told her Uncle everything. "It's over, Uncle - I swear!"

"Liar! You had your slave girl slip a note under his door, only last night!" He raged down at her. "One of my own servants saw it - saw Tavington return the note!"

She saw him reach for something, and quailed with fear when she saw a thin strip of wood, a cane. He was going to cane her!

"No, please!" Lyra wailed, she tried to lift herself but she was pinned and he was too strong. "Please Uncle!"

"You are no better than your whore of a mother!"

"Please, no, Uncle! Don't beat me!" Lyra, weeping now. "I'll marry Joseph, I will!"

"Yes, you will, and after I am through with you, you will do it with a smile on your face, without pining for lost loves!" The first strap hit her backside and Lyra writhed and howled. "You will end this dalliance with Colonel Tavington!" Another strike, a stinging fire. "You WILL be a dutiful wife!" Another strike, three now. Lyra wept and begged, to no avail, the cane came crashing down again. "You will not marry my son with your belly -" another strike, five now. "Already swollen with some other man's bastard," another strike, he was enraged, screaming now. "The same as your whore of a mother!"

One more strike and he finally lurched away from her, breathing heavily from his exertions. Lyra collapsed to her knees, great sobs bursting from her, the pain so immense she thought she would faint. Her uncle stared down at her coldly, dispassionately.

"You will end things with Colonel Tavington!"

She stared up at him with horror and shock, the vision of him blurred by her tears.

"You little bastard whore," he said cruelly. "My son will not be forced to raise Tavington's bastard the way Mathan was forced to raise Smith's. The only thing of Tavington that you will take to your marriage bed, Lyra," her uncle knelt before her, and she recoiled from him, afraid of more punishment. "Is his training. You will use it to please my son. He will want for nothing from you, do you understand?"

She nodded frantically and gasped her sobs, tears and terror.

"Your mouth," he traced her lips gently, perversely. "Your hands, your body, your _cunt_. All will be used to please my son, everything the Butcher taught you to do to him, you will do with my son, and no other. You will be faithful to him. Do - you - understand?"

"Yes," she gasped, rushing to reassure him. "I will, I swear! There will be no... no bastard. I drank... lovers bane...!"

Cole curled his lip with disgust. "So. You are exactly like your mother, as I suspected. A whore. I am marrying my son to a fucking whore. You are not worthy of him. He should have been allowed to marry Emily Robinson! At least she is a Lady, a virgin, her virtue is without question. But we need you, Lyra. We need..."

He cut off, disgusted with himself now, for saying too much.

"Get out of my sight, whore."

Lyra pushed up from the floor and ran.


	33. Chapter 33 - Must Please Joseph

**Chapter 33 - Must Please Joseph **

"You need to let me in, Sir," Joseph pleaded with Lyra's guard. Richard Wilkins glanced at his fellow Dragoon uncertainly but Robert Wentworth shook his head.

"We have our orders, Lieutenant Wilkins." Wentworth's voice was firm.

"Please," Joseph turned back to Richard. The two had been friends for years and he judged that Wilkins would be the one he could sway. "She is upset, I... I have to speak to her. She is my cousin, and..."

"And your fiancé?" Richard prompted, with a raised eyebrow. The turn of events had shocked them all, that Miss Lyra Mathan, Tavington's lover, was forced to leave their Colonel in order to marry her own cousin. None of the Dragoons were particularly well disposed toward the Simms family at the moment for they had all become very fond of Lyra. Especially her immediate guard, who took their task to protect her very seriously. In this duty, they were more loyal to Lyra than to Tavington, and had continually turned him away from her door, as they were doing with Joseph now.

"Please. She had a meeting with my father and he..." Joseph was almost frantic, he cut short, unwilling to tell Lyra's guard, who seemed so solicitous of her, what his father had done to her.

"What?" Richard leaned forward intently. "Joseph, what did your father do?"

_He caned her._ Joseph had become too large for his father to use a cane on, but he remembered the pain well. His father had a strong arm, and he doubted the senior Simms would have used anything less than his full strength on Lyra. At least he had not lifted the girls skirts - her many layers should have provided some small cushioning. Joseph himself had been whipped on his bare backside! It was a small mercy for Lyra. Very small.

"They argued, he upset her - you know how easily upset she is. Please, you must let me in, she is my... fiancé." He had been about to say cousin again, but in this, being her betrothed held more weight. "My fiancé, Richard!"

"Very well. I will let you in, but if she asks us to tell you to leave you will do so. Do you understand? She has only just stopped crying, after two whole hours, for Christ's sake! Tavington will hear of this, I assure you!"

"Yes... Yes - tell him. Tell Colonel Tavington, as soon as he arrives back here," Joseph nodded. "Yes, he will know what to do."

Richard opened the door carefully, the sun was high in the sky but Lyra's room was dark, her heavy drapes drawn closed. He opened one of them a crack as Joseph approached the bed. Lyra lay curled on her side, her eyes wide open and glazed.

"Miss Mathan," Richard strode up to stand beside Joseph, who was breathing heavily and staring down at Lyra, his expression pained and concerned. "Mr. Simms wishes to see you, would you like me to send him away?"

Lyra shook her head. Joseph could stay, for she must please him. With her mouth, her hands, her body, her cunt. She must please him with all of herself and never complain and always be faithful. She must be dutiful and please him. She had told herself over and over, as she lay there on the bed since her caning. She found solace, knowing what she must do, knowing how she can avoid further punishment.

"Very well," Richard shot a dubious glance at Joseph, but the other man barely noticed, his eyes riveted on Lyra. The Dragoon retreated, closing the door behind him.

"Lyra?" Joseph's voice was gentle. She was so still, so... Unresponsive, almost catatonic. He felt a small relief when she began to move, she shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, hiding a wince of pain as she sat up before him. "Lyra. I know what he did, I am so sorry." With two fingers gently cupping her chin, he tilted her face up to his. "Cousin, we will leave here. As soon as we are wed, no matter what Grandmama says. They won't be able to stop us, and they will not be able to hurt you again, for you will be _my_ wife."

She nodded, her eyes where glassy and she moved mechanically.

_Must please him..._ He stood in front her now as Thomas had so many times before. She knew what to do. And now Tavington had taught her to use her mouth, she knew she could please him. A calmness came over her and, offering William silent thanks for his instruction, she reached up and began to rub her palm over the bulge contained within Joseph's breeches.

"I will protect you," he was assuring her. "I won't be a coward, I swear I will stand up to them, and... LYRA! What are you doing?"

He jerked back from her and she gazed up at him, startled.

"Joseph, I... I have to..." She rose from the bed and walked toward him, but he backed away from her, horrified.

Oh, no. If he will not let her...

She had not considered that. They _always_ want to, don't they? Lord, if he found her displeasing, there will be more caning. Panic flooded through her, she could not suffer such pain again, she could not!

"Please, Joseph," she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I am beautiful, I know I am. Everyone says so. Please, don't tell me I don't please you. I have to please you. I have to!" She began ripping at the lacing on her bodice, tearing at it with clumsy fingers, trying to unclothe herself as quickly as possible, to show him. William loved her breasts, he went wild for them. Surely Joseph will too? Her bodice halfway open now when she hit a stumbling block.

Stays. Christ, _stays_! "You will have to help me, Joseph, I can't -"

"LYRA!" He reached out and shook her, "cousin, just listen to me!" He shook her again, harder, and she began to cry, realising he had been speaking to her but she had not listened. Not dutiful enough!

Oh dear Lord, the cane. More pain. Oh Christ.

The sobs ripped through her and she was pulled into his strong arms, wrapped safely, securely. Whispered words calming her, reassuring her.

No cane...

Lyra gasped as relief flooded through her and she clung tightly to her cousin.

"Lyra... Oh, Christ... What did he say to you? What did... Oh, Christ."

He held her close, silently, as she cried herself out.

The door opened, Joseph waved Richard off. The Dragoon hesitated, then nodded, seeing that Lyra was calming and did not seem in immediate danger, he closed the door again. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Joseph drew away, Lyra let her arms fall to her sides and stared at the floor while her cousin did her bodice back up again.

"Cousin, I will not force myself upon you. Not ever. I know some husbands do, they say it is their right, but I never will. We will have to consummate our marriage at some point, so you do need to reconcile yourself to that, be prepared for it. But we do not have to do it right away, and after that one time I will not pursue you for more. Perhaps you will think kindly of me, after we have bedded, you will trust me not to hurt you, and come to me willingly."

He took her arm and gently led her back to the bed, were they sat side by side.

"What did he say to you, Lyra?"

Lyra hunched in on herself, her glassy eyes unseeing. She shuddered, and lay down on the bed, on her side. Joseph understood, she would not sit on her rump for a few days, not comfortably.

"He knew I had tried to get you to release me from our engagement. He was so angry. He told me I had to please you. He knew about William, too, he knew so much! Servants, in this house, and he questioned the servants in the Collins household as well!"

"Christ," her cousin sighed heavily. "Everyone speaks freely in front of servants, and half of ours report back to my father, the other half to Grandmama."

"They must listen and watch for everything," Lyra shifted and sighed. "Dear Lord. Joseph - I am not just in love with William. I bedded him. I can not be pregnant for I was drinking lovers bane, a tea infusion that stops pregnancy. But I am not a virgin."

"I did not think you were," he admitted. "Though I thought it was Thomas Smith..."

"No. He wanted me intact for our wedding day. I gave myself to William the very night I met him. So you see, Joey," she turned slightly, catching his eye. "I am not a virgin. Come now, won't you end this engagement?"

"No," he shook his head. "It is out of my hands, Lyra. I will marry you even if you had bedded fifty men." He hesitated, then asked gently, "what of Tristan Collins?"

Lyra sighed heavily with disappointment. Joseph was not offended, he understood. He had always liked his cousin and he had come to love her dearly these last few days after spending so much time with her. But as a _cousin_! He did not want this marriage any more than she did.

"No, I did not bed him. I kissed him, though, when I thought it was over between William and I. Why are they so desperate for us to marry? Your father almost said it, almost let something slip."

"What?"

"He said, _"I am marrying my son to a fucking whore. You are not worthy of him. He should have been allowed to marry Emily Robinson! At least she is a Lady, a virgin, her virtue is without question. But we need you, Lyra. We need...' _What do they need Joey?"

Joseph closed his eyes and groaned, utterly distressed that his father would speak to Lyra in that manner.

"I do not know," he said finally. "It is a puzzle."

"It certainly is."

"Lyra, I know it is hard - believe me, it is hard for me also. Poor Emily, she must be in a pit of despair, she loves me as much as I love her. But we can make this work, you and I. We can be happy together. All I ask is..."

He hesitated and Lyra turned over, prompting him with a raised eyebrow.

"Just... Please - don't be unfaithful? I know you love Tavington dearly, but... We must stay true, hold our heads high and build a life together, or we will be shamed."

"And you, will you stray?"

"No, Lyra. I believe we should be a united force, the two of us. Neither of us want this marriage, but we are both strong and together we could be stronger. We are cousins, we do care for one another. We should band together, brother and sister in arms," he smiled - he always seemed to be able to work a military phrase into any conversation. "We are survivors, you and I. We will leave our polluted family behind us. It will be you and I against them. I will never allow them to hurt you again."

Lyra smiled. "You think I'm a survivor? That I am strong? I am neither, Joseph."

"You doubt yourself? After all you've endured with Smith? And then to find out he was your real father? To endure being beaten and... and _forced_? You are still here, aren't you? You are strong, and a survivor, and when you finally realise this, dear cousin, you will be a much happier person for it. No one will dare walk over you, ever again, once you realise it."

"Maybe..." Lyra thought back to the time she raged at Tavington. Colonel William Tavington. The Butcher. And how he had stood through it all, as she slapped him and raged at him for using her as bait. "Maybe... Perhaps I am a little bit strong at that..."

"You are. Tell me, if you were free, would you marry Tavington?" His tone was wistful, bittersweet. Clearly, he would marry Emily, if he were free.

"No," she shook her head. "He only wanted me as his mistress, his lover. Tristan wanted to marry me..." Lyra said sadly.

He kissed her hair gently, a brotherly kiss.

"I will be a good husband, Lyra. I will give you no reason to fear me, and you will want for nothing. A united force, remember? But we both need to hold to our promise, and be faithful, agreed?"

"Agreed."

"I better go, will you be alright now?"

"Yes, cousin. Thank you for... Thank you," she finished lamely. He nodded, seeming to understand, then left the room. Richard Wilkins stuck his head into the room, checking on her, then closed to door.

Once she was alone again, Lyra tried not to think about William, Tristan or Joseph, tried not to think about the bedding to come, or the wedding itself. She lay back on her pillows and tried not to think at all.

Sally came in a short while later, the only person allowed in without Lyra's prior permission. She began tidying the room, casting concerned glances at Lyra all the while. Eventually, Lyra began to grow restless, she was unable to clear her mind, the room was too dark, the mansion itself stifling with all its servant spies.

"Sally, is Grandmama awake yet?"

"I think she is waking now, her maids have been attending her but she has not come out of her room yet."

"And Uncle?"

"He has gone - I do not know where."

"William?"

"The Assembly Hall."

"Hmm. I need..." She rose from the bed, gingerly of course. She suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to see her manor, the home where she had spent the first years of her childhood, even if she only viewed it from the street.

"What do you need, honey?" Sally asked as she crossed the room to her mistress. "Does it still hurt, should I get some salve?"

"No. I mean, yes, it still hurts but... I need some fresh air. I need to leave the mansion, if only for a little while," she drew a ragged breath and then blurted out, "I want to go home - just to see it, Sally! Even if it is just from the street. I want to see it again!"

"That would be a fine thing, but how?"

Lyra and Sally both pictured walking through the mansion, servants trailing them and then sending messages to Cole as soon as it became clear she was trying to leave.

"My Dragoons!" Lyra gasped.

Sally raised an eyebrow.

"My Dragoons!" Lyra repeated. "Quickly. I must speak to Lieutenant Wilkins now!"

:::::

Richard Wilkins would not allow her to leave the mansion, even if it was for a short duration, unless he himself had command of her guard. He told off two other Dragoons to stand on her bedchamber door, making it appear as though she were still in her chamber. They were instructed to turn everyone away, to tell them Lyra had a pounding headache and was not to be disturbed. They would be gone for such a short time, Wilkins hoped he could have her returned before anyone suspected she had left.

He, and Wentworth, scouted ahead through the corridors, avoiding servants and Lyra's family alike, all the way to the stables. Wilkins, full of his own self importance, demanded the carriage be readied and the grooms did not dare to refuse him.

Lyra waited, tense and on edge. Even Sally was nervous, picking up on her mistress's agitation.

"Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I should just forget it. They will learn I left without permission and when I return Uncle Cole might cane me again!"

"Do you want to go back inside?" Sally asked. "We can go for a stroll through the gardens."

Lyra thought about it, then shook her head. "No, I want to see my manor... I will take a risk, we shan't be gone long."

"Lyra?" Mrs. Eleanor Bryant stepped into the stables. "Where are you going?"

"No where!" Lyra gasped, tears instantly burning her eyes. "Not now! You'll probably go running off to Grandmama, like the little spy that you are!"

"No! I won't!" Mrs. Bryant wrung her hands, her eyes tearing also. "Please, Lyra, I know it looks bad, but I do care for you, how could I not?"

The carriage was being driven forward.

"I have to leave, only for a half hour! I want to see my manor - are you going to tell?"

"No... I'll come with you, if you like, then you won't be worried that I'll tell on you."

"I don't know..."

The six Dragoons that would be accompanying her were all mounted and ready to go.

"Lyra," Sally laid her hand on Lyra's shoulder. "You're wrong about her. Trust me."

Lyra hesitated. Sally was probably one of the few left that she did trust. She held Eleanor's tear filled eyes, then nodded.

"Very well, get in."

"Thank you, Lyra," she whispered, relieved, as they all clambered into the carriage.


	34. Chapter 34 - A Wistful Glance of Home

**Chapter 34 - A Wistful Glance of Home**

The three of them sat quietly, moving and swaying as the carriage ambled along the road. She had six Dragoons guarding her, two of them trotting at the front of the carriage, two at the rear. Lieutenant Richard Wilkins was on one side of the carriage, Lieutenant Wentworth on the other. Wilkins, who was positioned just outside her window, was within earshot.

"Almost there, Miss Mathan," he told her through the window. She nodded, excitement and apprehension warring within her.

"Is the house occupied by Dragoons?" Eleanor asked the Lieutenant.

"Yes, Captain Bordon, his wife and eight Dragoons."

Lyra had known it, it came as no surprise that Bordon was living in the house. Possibly even in the rooms she had intended to share with William. With a heavy sigh, she shifted on her bottom but could not gain a more comfortable seat. Her rump hurt her no matter how she sat.

"What did he do, Lyra?" Mrs. Bryant asked, Lyra suspected her former governess had her suspicions. Even Wilkins, trotting alongside, fell quiet and tense, listening for Lyra's response. She sighed again, and told them.

"He caned me." She said simply.

Amid gasps and hisses, Lyra told Wilkins and Bryant what she had already told Sally, of being summoned to Cole's office, only to be punished for trying to convince Joseph to end their engagement and for her relations with Tavington.

Mrs. Bryant was suitably outraged, over the caning and of Lyra's bedding of Tavington, and she began to interrogate her former charge, when Wilkins leaned closer, his face dark with fury.

"Colonel Tavington must be told, Miss Mathan! We are your guard, set to protect you - this will not be allowed to happen again!"

"How can you stop it? He is the head of my house! There is nothing you can -"

"There is plenty we can do!" He snapped with outrage. "No, we can not usurp his authority over you, but there are other ways, other... enticements..." He tightened his lips, his face thoughtful but angry, as though he was thinking of all the 'enticements' he would like to employ to encourage Cole never to use such methods of punishment again.

"You would protect me?" Lyra asked in a small voice.

"That is what we are here for!"

"No, I mean, against my family - you can't -"

"I can only do so much, within the command that has been given to me," Wilkins agreed reluctantly. "But we are _yours_, Miss Mathan - we answer to _you_, not to the Simms. How can we allow our charge to be beaten? He has the right, but believe you me, such methods are frowned upon. A man of his standing - if this was revealed he would be reviled. And when Tavington learns of it..."

He trailed off, his face still dark, ominous.

Lyra shivered.

::::::::

"I should be living there, right now," Lyra said wistfully as she stared at her large manor house. The carriage had stopped on the street in front of the house, as Lyra had decided not to go inside with all the Dragoons staying there. Besides, time was short, they must return before it was discovered she had left.

Not as large as the Simms Mansion on Broad St, but her manor was far more beautiful. It was _home_. A broad house, with its three levels, a bank of windows on each story. Pure white, with large columns, an all around verandah and an all around balcony. Trees and gardens, even a pond with a fountain at it's centre. "Joseph wants to move here after we are married, but Grandmama wants him to stay at the mansion. He is very adamant that we will leave, though, so perhaps..."

"Well, once you are married," Eleanor said firmly, "_they_ will have no say. Joseph will be his own man, and you will be -"

"Joseph's," Lyra cut Mrs. Bryant off. "I will belong to Joseph, as much as one of his horses or his pianola, much as I now belong to Uncle Cole."

"At least Mr. _Joseph_ Simms is a good man," Sally said quietly.

"Certainly, I am lucky there. Joseph is nothing like the rest of our family. Yes, he will be his own man. Perhaps we can move here regardless of what Grandmama wants."

"Depending on your Will, of course," Eleanor agreed. "We have only rumour to go by, we do not know the conditions of the Will or if you have been left this house at all."

"I'm surprised, Miss Mathan, that you have not been to see your lawyer to view it yet," Lieutenant Wilkins said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. He was still in a fury over what he had heard from Lyra, and had even taken Wentworth aside to report it to him. "You spoke of little else during our travels along the Santee."

"Yes, but, Grandmama... She would not let me. She said we had to wait until after the wedding for we were too busy preparing for the ball and all the lessons."

"No time like the present," Wilkins replied in a lofty tone. "We could go there now, if you wish."

"Now!" Lyra gasped, she shared a look with Mrs. Bryant and Sally, who both began to smile and nod. "But I had only planned to be gone a short time, I wanted to be back before they even knew I had gone. How long do you think it will take?"

"As long as it takes, Miss Mathan," Wilkins curled his lip. "Let them try to punish you, they will need to go through all of us if they did! Not to mention Colonel Tavington. You have nothing to fear from them, Miss Mathan."

"Yes," Eleanor piped up, excitement taking a hold of her. "Lets go now!"

Sally was nodding enthusiastically and Lyra, taking hold of her nerves and pushing them down, finally agreed.

"Very well, Wilkins - do you know the way to Mr. Sampson's offices?"

::::::::::

The carriage moved off again, and Lyra's home was soon lost to her view. She craned her head to look over her shoulder, then straightened again with a sigh. The other women were quiet, all of them lost in their own thoughts.

Cole could not cane her again, not now. Wilkins would not allow it, and _William_..!

When _he_ got wind of it... Lyra shuddered again, hating to think what her lover would do when he discovered she had been caned. He could not have her removed from the house, could not supersede Cole's authority, but Lyra had visions of her guard never leaving her side - even if she was summoned to Cole's office again. They would accompany her everywhere, and she doubted Cole would try to cane her in front of others.

Dear Lord, how did it come to this? Not five days ago, she and William had planned to live in her manor, and then leave for the Fort together. She would accompany him even as the army made its push for North Carolina.

It had changed, all of it had changed, when her detestable family had stepped in to claim her.

Families... Lyra curled her lip and puffed out an angry breath. Excepting for her time in the manor house with her parents before her father had died, families had meant nothing but pain and grief for Lyra. Even now, her reunion with the Simms side of her family left much to be desired. She wished she could simply be rid of them.

She had once known of a girl, a young woman who tried to escape an unwanted marriage. It had been quite a scandal in Pembroke for many years for the young woman had taken matters into her own hands and had eloped with a man not of her father's choosing, her parent's had been too late to do anything to stop it.

Oh, they had their revenge after the fact nevertheless. The girl was completely cut off from the family, denied her dowry and her inheritance. She was never allowed to see her family again, and had to move far from Pembroke to avoid the scandal. Lyra never did learn what happened to the girl.

Lyra, who had been far younger and had been living under the yolk of Smith's iron rule, had thought the girl very brave for escaping her family the way she did. It had heartened her, proven that a young woman was not entirely without control of her life. Of course now that she was a grown woman herself, Lyra saw how the girl had escaped the rule of one man, her father, and replaced it with another man, her new husband. The girl had given up so much for so little, Lyra thought now. Given up her dowry and inheritance, and a family who did indeed love her, to marry a man of her choosing.

As she moved and swayed with the gentle rocking of the carriage, Lyra wondered idly if it had all been worth it, if the woman was happy, well provided for, if she had found love with her husband and the children she would have given him by now. She wondered if she could do the same, simply take herself away, take herself out of the authority of her Uncle and Grandmama. She smiled wistfully.

If only that were possible.

_Why isn't it possible?_

The thought flittered through Lyra's mind, chasing away her smile.

What would they do, if she tried? If she left... Simply packed her chest, had her Green Dragoon guard escort her from the mansion. What would they do?

Lyra said up straight, her back ramrod, her expression intent.

What _would_ they do? Her thoughts whirled through her mind, taking hold of her, she began to breathe heavily. What _could_ they do?

Cane her for leaving? Her Dragoons would not allow it.

Deny her a dowry? No, they were not providing her with one!

Deny her an inheritance? No, for her inheritance was coming from her father - _her father!_ - no matter what anyone else said!

Threaten to never see her again? Lyra scoffed, the less she had to do with her detestable Grandmother and Uncle, the better!

"Lyra?" Eleanor asked, seeing her young friend had become as alert as a blood hound catching a scent.

"Oh, my God," Lyra gasped, a chill crept along her spine, and with it came understanding.

"What is it?" Eleanor lurched forward, half hanging out of the window, trying to see for herself the danger she thought Lyra must have seen, though there was only Lieutenant Wilkins, glancing into the carriage with a quizzical expression.

Lyra was staring, wide eyed, but she saw nothing beyond the window.

"I am only under their authority because I have _allowed_ myself to be!"

Mrs. Bryant turned to her, wide eyed with astonishment.

"Don't you see?" Lyra cried, searching her former governess's face, and then Sally's by turn. "He has no way to force me to this - neither of them have! Yes, he is the head of my family. What of it? They can't force me to this marriage! They can't force me to do a _damned_ thing! I am not at their mercy for a dowry or inheritance." She had the bit between her teeth and she began to rage. "I allowed this, by going along meekly with their demands! I don't have to stay there, in that mansion - what could they do if I left? Nothing! My Dragoons would not allow them to lock me in my room as Grandmama threatened! They would have stopped it if they had known Uncle Cole was caning me!"

"What are you saying?" Eleanor squeaked with shock, but Lyra barely noticed, her epiphany had her in its grip.

"What could they do? Nothing! I _allowed_ them to bully me, to prod and poke me, to tie strings to me! But they can do nothing! They can not gainsay me, if I chose to leave! Just leave! Just walk out of the mansion never to _fucking_ return!"

Eleanor's eyes widened at the use of Lyra's language, but she said nothing.

"Certainly I would be giving up a life of wealth, of silks," she clutched at her skirts for emphasis, "but who cares? I never had any of it before, on that farm! I do not need silks and fine china and jewels! I was happy to have my manor and my small income, happy with my two thousand pounds! Two things the Simms can not deny me, for they come from my _father_, not from them!"

"Indeed," Eleanor breathed.

"I could leave. Right now! Hell, I have left - I don't have to go back. What could they do? Search for me, drag me back, cane me again?" She looked out the window, at Richard Wilkins who was trotting alongside, he met her gaze - his eyes again filled with dark rage. "Not bloody likely, with my twenty strong Dragoon guard!"

"We can do nothing outside our orders, Miss Mathan. But at the moment, my young charge, we take our orders from _you_. Until someone tells us otherwise," Wilkins confirmed for her.

_What of William, and Joseph? _

Lyra paused, thinking it through carefully for she had no desire to see Joseph disinherited, nor did she wish to destroy Colonel Tavington's hard earned career. However, after some consideration, she realised that if she were the one to leave, then neither William nor Joseph could be held accountable, neither of them would be punished. Cornwallis would have no grounds to discipline Tavington, and Uncle Cole would have no grounds to disinherit Joseph, for Lyra would be acting completely on her own volition.

Lyra began to laugh. "Oh, dear Lord. I'm free!" She squealed with delight and drummed her feet against the floor of the carriage then hugged Sally tight. "All this time, I've been waiting to be rescued, by William, and then by Joseph. I wanted _them_ to help _me_! But now I realise it was all down to me - I have to be the one to free us! I am the only one who can for I have the _least_ to lose! They have nothing they can threaten me with, nothing to take from me, for I stood to gain nothing from them to start with!" She felt like laughing and weeping, smiling and crying, squealing with joy. It was all down to her. Never had she felt so empowered in her entire life - to be able to help herself, William, Joseph and Emily, to free them all.

And all she had to do was _leave_! William would leave with her, the Dragoons also. They would go to her manor house on Tradd St, which was where they had meant to be all along!

The carriage slowed to a stop, they were at the lawyers.

"But first, I need to know what my father has left me," Lyra said wisely, trying to contain the fever of her excitement. "I will need an income, a home, otherwise I will be entirely dependent on William, as his mistress. I need to know exactly how this Trust on my house works," she continued as she climbed out of the carriage, her friends following her.

"Mistress!" Eleanor exclaimed with outrage. She had known the two were in love, but this! "No! You will not become some man's mistress! You will need to marry still. Rumour has it, you need a son to secure the manor -"

"Who needs to marry for that?" Lyra asked, and Eleanor gasped with shock.

"Lyra -"

"No, Eleanor," Lyra ignored her friends shock - never had she addressed her so familiarly before. "If I have learned anything in all this, the one thing that I have discovered for certain is that I do _not_ wish to get married! I have no desire to be at any man's mercy any longer!" She stomped away from the carriage, following Richard Wilkins and the other Dragoons falling in behind them. "I am tired of men, pushing me this way and that. Bullying me, beating me! Thomas Smith, my Uncle. Hell, though I love him dearly, even _William_ has done his far share to hurt me!"

The Dragoons remained silent and said nothing in their commanders defense, they had seen the Colonel in action with Lyra, had witnessed him strike her.

"I am tired of it! And I'm only eighteen! How much more do I have to look forward to, being under a man's rule? No, I won't have it. Do I need a son? If so, William will give me one. Hell, William can give me _ten_ sons! But I need revenues, of course -"

"Lyra, this is insanity! Women have to marry, we must -"

"I hope I do have two thousand, because I can live off that - modestly, but it will do," Lyra ignored Eleanor's protest. "I will need to invest it, carefully of course. The manor is fully furnished, I assume all of the contents belong to the manor - I will not need to purchase anything."

"Lyra! What of your virtue - your reputation! You would be shunned from society!"

"Oh, Eleanor come now! Who wants to live in a society ruled by my grandmother and uncle? The Simms are the reigning family, aren't they, Mr. Wilkins?"

Richard nodded agreement.

"I want to be as far from them as possible, I do not care if I am shunned from their presence. Besides, I'd be with William, leave with him when he leaves for the Fort and... And where ever this war takes him! I will return to Charles Town one day, perhaps, but that will be a very long time from now, and by then hopefully I will have a son to secure the manor! I will avoid 'society'," she said the word disdainfully. "And live a simple and quiet life!"

They were in the Offices now, and Richard spoke quietly to a young man, told him Miss Mathan needed to see her lawyer, Mr. Sampson, at once.

Lyra finally fell silent as she waited for Mr. Sampson to make his appearance, in a fever of excitement, and apprehension. Her entire plan hinged on her father's Will, it was paramount that she see exactly what was left to her, exactly how the trust on her house worked.

"You're worried, I can tell," Mrs. Bryant said softly, placing her arm around Lyra's shoulder. "Despite this mad plan of yours, you are worried."

"I just... It all hinges on my father's Will, on my inheritance."

"It always does," Eleanor said wisely. "However, you do not have to marry Joseph or go along with the Simms plans. But nor do you have to run off and be some Redcoat Officer's mistress," the older woman sniffed disdainfully to show what she thought of that. "Lyra, if it comes down to it, if you have _not_ been left with the manor and the two thousand, you may come and live with me. My house is small, a little townhouse, but I have a little income of my own put aside and it will be enough to help you until you are on your feet. As long as you don't mind not wearing these anymore."

She tugged playfully at Lyra's silk dresses. The younger woman laughed.

"I already said, I can live with that! Thank you," she said, and the two women embraced, reconciled once more.

:::::::::::::::

Mr Sampson was holding a large leather satchel, which he began to open.

"Your Father's Last Will and Testament," he laid the pages before her on the large oak desk, before resuming his seat.

Lyra, who had been excited only moments earlier, found herself oddly reluctant. She touched her father's Will almost reverently.

"Shall we?" Mr. Sampson said calmly, and opened the pages. Lyra shot Sally a nervous glance and she nodded with encouragement. Mrs. Bryant sat on Lyra's other side, as eager and apprehensive as Lyra.

Mr. Sampson began to read. "In this, the last Will and Testament of John Alexander Mathan. I bequeath to the daughter of my blood," Lyra winced and shared a quick glance with Eleanor, who held her silence. "To my last remaining blood relative, Miss Lyra May Mathan, all my mother and my grandmother's jewels. My great grandfather's silver pocket watch. The porcelain dinner set, and other various items in which I myself have stowed away in a large chest and left in the care of my lawyer, Mr. Sampson. I also bequeath to my daughter a grand sum of nine hundred pounds."

Lyra's cheeks drained of blood. Breathing heavily, she stared at the words written on the thick parchment, her face white. The house... No mention of the house. Nine hundred pounds.

Dear Lord above!

Her hopes and dreams of living in the manor were dashed. She thought furiously through her options - and realised one terrible thing. She had no where to go! If she left the Simms mansion - where would she go?

There were more words on the pages, but nothing to indicate her beloved house. And as it was not likely to fit into the chest that Mr. Sampson had kept for her, it seemed the manor was not hers after all.

Wide eyed with astonishment, she dropped back into her seat and stared at the lawyer. She swallowed hard and Sally took her hand, squeezing it with sympathy.

"You'll live with me, then," Eleanor assured her, seeing right to the heart of Lyra's concern. "You can still leave them, Lyra. Just come to me."

"But... Nine hundred pounds... How will I live off that? Two thousand was a stretch as it was, and now I discover I've only got nine hundred!"

"As I told you, you will live with me. I have enough to care for you, modestly of course. Your nine hundred, added to my small amount will keep us all comfortable enough, Sally and Arcam too. And perhaps some of these jewels will be worth a small amount, if you can bear to part with them. All will be well, Lyra, this I promise you."

Lyra nodded weakly. Either she could remain with Eleanor or go with William, be his mistress. Of course she would be entirely at his mercy and when he left for England after the war, as she knew he must for she had heard the Green Dragoons speak of one Miss Price who his mother wished him to marry, she would be alone again.

She felt Eleanor take her other hand, and she glanced toward her former governess.

"It will mean you will have to marry, I'm afraid. There will be no avoiding it - but it can wait. You do not need to make any decisions, perhaps not even for years yet. Cheer up, Lyra! We will make good companions for one another! I for one am looking forward to it."

Lyra smiled weakly, still undecided as to who she should choose. Eleanor, who would provide for her and help her build a future, or William, who would only offer the 'now'.

Either way, she would leave the Simms far, far behind, no matter what!

::::::

**_A/N - I know, we were all expecting Tavington to 'rescue' Lyra from this, but I thought it was a nice touch, for Lyra to rescue herself, wouldn't you agree?_**

**_:-)_**


	35. Chapter 35 - Mr Sampson's Odd Humor

**Chapter 35 - Mr. Sampson's Odd Humour**

"You asked to see your _father's_ Will, Miss Mathan. Would you like to see your _mothers_, now?" Mr. Sampson's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"My... Mothers?" Lyra whispered, utterly confused. "I... did not think she had a Will..."

"Oh, she had a Will alright," he reached into the leather satchel again, drawing forth more papers. He glanced at Lyra and began to feel guilty over his little joke. He had always had an odd sense of humour, and it had been her _father's_ Will she had asked to see! But the poor dear, she was almost distraught and of course, as the families lawyer, he understood her completely - she had thought to be left the house in her father's Will. He sighed heavily and, deciding to put the poor dear out of her misery, began to read quickly.

"In this, the last Will and Testament of Claire Rose Mathan. I bequeath to the daughter of my blood, Miss Lyra May Mathan, the following estates: - the address of 12 Tradd Street, Charles Town.' -"

"Oh, thank the dear Lord!" Eleanor cried, her voice filled with relief. "I knew there must have been some sort of mistake! Oh, Lyra!"

The two women smiled brightly at each other, Lyra's face coloured again, as relief flooded through her. Sampson coughed deliberately, drawing their attention once more.

"There is more, ladies," he admonished, then continued to read. "or did you not hear me say 'estate**_s_**' - in the plural? 'The address of 165 Broad Street, Charles Town. The address of 14 Trifle Lane, Pembroke."

Lyra stared at Sampson, shocked and confused. She shook her head, the only response she could muster. Sampson, however, was not finished.

"Further more, I leave unto Lyra, "Green Haven", my grandmother's indigo plantation in Raleigh, and all the revenues forthwith.

"I leave these Estates unto Lyra, unequivocally and completely free of her husband's debts. He may not sell them without her permission or her knowledge. I charge unto my daughter, to be wiser than I, with her choice of husband. Furthermore, these Estates are to be solely in the possession of my daughter, outside of the control of my mother Mrs. Rebecca Simms and my brother Mr. Cole Simms.

"I leave unto Lyra all of my linen and silks, my jewelry - every item that belongs to me, must then be given to my daughter. I leave unto Lyra my carriage of oak, my pianoforte, my first best porcelain dinner set -"

"Two dinner sets, Lyra, you are the lucky one!" Sally burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. Lyra burst into laughter, a startled bark which quickly became tears as the enormity overwhelmed her. Sally pulled her into her arms, stroking her hair as she wept.

"You are a very wealthy woman, Lyra," Eleanor said seriously, tears shining in her eyes. "Do you think you could gift me one of the dinner sets? The best one, for use in my home?" She was joking, of course, trying for levity in the hope that it might calm Lyra the sooner. It worked, in a small way. She stopped weeping, but continued to sniffle and blow her nose, her tears still falling silently as she tried to come to grips.

A wealthy young woman indeed...

"So, now we know," Mrs. Bryant said crisply. "Why they wished you to marry Joseph Simms..."

"We do?" Lyra frowned and wiped at her tears with a handkerchief.

"You are not thinking clearly, child. What is your grandmother's address, of the mansion where you have been staying these last few days?"

Lyra felt a warm flush come over her, beginning from her toes, flooding through her, until her cheeks shone red. "165 Broad St, Charles Town?"

"Indeed. You own that residence," Mr. Sampson explained. "It has caused quite a stir, you realise. I have had to represent you in court two times over the last two years, and your mother four times before she passed away. You will, of course, receive my final statement of accounts, now that you have come into your own."

"I... What will I receive?"

"My _bill_, child," he said blandly, hiding his smile. Then he barked a loud laugh, startling Lyra. "That Rebecca Simms. Christ, if she was not badgering me over the mansion on Broad Street, she was badgering me over the plantation in Raleigh! As if her own husband had not left her enough, she has her own plantation, a very fruitful one! But she feels cheated, you see. She had a fall out with her mother, who would not speak to her for years."

Lyra, Sally and Mrs. Bryant all stared, stunned to silence, spellbound by Sampson's tale.

"And when her mother passed away, Mrs. Rebecca Simms felt certain she would finally inherit the mansion and the plantation. But her mother, Mrs. Rutledge - she had the last laugh, she did! She left the entire lot to her _granddaughter_, your mother, Claire and her husband Mr. Mathan. Mrs. Rutledge left not a single loophole to be exploited, not even a hair line crack. It was left to Mrs. Mathan, unequivocally. They never got along well, your mother and grandmother, but after that, Mrs. Simms became savage! Utterly savage. On the war path, you could say."

"Lord, I never knew! So that is why they were desperate for me to marry Joseph! As my husband, those Estates would have belonged to him, anything belonging to me would belong to him!"

"Yes. As I am sure you are aware, as a woman you are not legally allowed to own such properties. As your male next of Kin, your Uncle, Mr. Simms tried to take control of the properties you inherited. Your mother and I worked very hard to close all of the loopholes, and those properties were placed under a Trust that your Uncle and Grandmother have been unable to break.

"And so they have failed to gain the indigo plantation or the mansion through legal channels. His Honorable Justice, Judge McIntyre, told Mrs. Simms in no uncertain terms, that he would hear no more of it, and forbade her from trying to bring the case before him again. That was three months ago."

"Three months!" Mrs. Bryant burst out. "That was when they announced that young Joseph would have to marry Lyra, and they began organising the betrothal and having the banns announced! They paid off Reverend Stilton, they did!"

"Oh! They hoped to get hold of it through my marriage to Joseph! But it still would never have been _theirs_, the Will is very clear - the Estate would be free of my husband's debts and he could not sell them without my permission. Which surely means he would not have been able to transfer ownership of them to his father -"

"Have you already forgotten the caning, Lyra?" Eleanor asked. "Mr. Simms almost had full control over you, dearest. The threat of a beating would have been enough for you to cede the mansion to them, I am certain of it!" Her tone dripped anger and disapproval.

"Your Uncle caned you?" Mr. Sampson asked with a stern frown. "I can have him arrested, if you wish. Have him before a judge for assault."

"Oh... You can?" Lyra frowned. "I'm not certain I want to do that... Mr. Sampson, there is so much I don't understand here. How does Thomas Smith fit into all this? How didn't he know about these other properties, how were they kept from him? He was desperate for the manor house on Tradd St!"

"Your mother was in love," Sampson said gently, "but she was no fool. Before she married him, Mrs. Mathan came to me. We sat down and worked through everything, making it seem as though she only had a farm left - in Pembroke - "

"I burnt my mother's house!" Lyra wailed. "I thought it was Smith's, and I hated it, so much! I asked William to burn it! Oh, dear Lord!"

Sampson waited a moment, then nodded. "Well, that might not have been the cleverest move. Be that as it may, we worked hard, your mother and I, to bury the rest of her holdings amidst a bunch of paperwork, and your stepfather was not a patient man. After they were married, he came to me, without your mother's knowledge, to go over all that they owned. Again, he became impatient for I managed to divert him and he did not bother to dig deeply. If he had have insisted, I would have been forced to show him the true extent of your mother's wealth and holdings. _His_ wealth and holdings, if the truth be told, as soon as he married her, they became his. But he never knew of their existence.

"Before they left for the Santee, he had begun to show his true colours, and Mrs. Mathan - now Mrs. Smith, sat down with me once more, devising this Will," he patted the parchment on the desk. "She asked me to manage the finances of the plantation, and I have done so. the plantation yields a good fifteen thousand pounds a year, and using those revenues, I have maintained the house on Tradd St, and sent the occasional stipend to your mother when she requested it. Much of the annual revenue went back into the plantation - to pay the staff maintaining the property and the farms, to maintain the house and buy supplies, but each year, for the past ten years, I have put your mothers earnings aside. They are yours now, the earnings, the profit."

He began to shuffle the paperwork once more, trying to find the latest ledger. "To date, you have in a secure bank account, somewhere near the sum of..." he paused, trying to find the right column, "Ah, sixty three thousand pounds."

Lyra swayed, unable to believe her ears. Such a vast figure! It was hard to take it in, hard to... Dear Lord! She met Sally's smiling eyes, then turned to Mrs. Bryant again.

"A very wealthy woman. The dinner set?" She quirked an eyebrow, and Lyra laughed as she rose and straightened her skirts. It was time to leave.

"Thank you Mr. Sampson, for everything," she said warmly.

"That is perfectly fine, Miss Mathan. As I said, you will receive me bill."

She smiled and let her friends lead her away.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

The women were stunned during the carriage ride back to the mansion.

Lyra's mansion. It was hers. Hell, even the coach they rode in was hers - as stipulated in her mother's Will. "My carriage of oak".

"What will I do with it all?" She asked quietly as the mansion came in to view. "I have so much now - I do not know how to manage any of it. Can you teach me?"

"I'm sorry, Lyra," Eleanor replied. "No, I have taught you how to be a lady, how to form your letters. History. Languages. Those are the things I teach. Estate management? I would not have a _clue_ about Estate management!"

"Then how about some advice?" Lyra asked, her voice almost a whisper. "I have power over them now, Eleanor. The mansion is mine. What do I do?"

It was Sally who answered. "Boot them! Of all the deceitful..! How dare they treat you as they have? They bullied you - tried to trick you into this marriage so they could bully and beat you into giving them what is rightfully yours! How dare they? Boot them and kick them as they leave!"

Lyra chuckled, Sally was never so fierce! But she was furious now, utterly fuming.

"Hmm. Yes - I believe you should ask them to leave," Eleanor said. "It is not as though they do not have a place to go. As Mr. Sampson said, Mrs. Simms was left all of her husband's holdings, which Mr. Cole Simms now has charge of. They have a house here in Charles Town, a manor house. Tell them you wish them to leave _your_ home."

"It's not my home, however," Lyra gazed at the mansion, it grew larger as they drew closer. "I feel nothing for it, nothing but... Bad memories... I do not ever want to see it again. Do not want to walk its halls. I have no feeling for it, and I do not need it, not when I have three other properties and my sixty three thousand."

"It is a very stately home, Lyra," Eleanor pointed out.

"It will never be home to me. Also, it will be a millstone around my neck, for I will have to maintain it out of the earnings from Green Haven, won't I? It does not generate its own income."

"And you were asking me advice on maintaining properties?" Eleanor laughed. "So, what are you thinking then? You seem to have a plan already."

"Hmm. We'll see. I'm not certain yet."

"Lyra," Eleanor said carefully, "I know you were adamant earlier, but you really must consider marrying now. No!" She said firmly when Lyra made to protest. "I still do not fully understand how all of this works - you having full ownership of it all and it bothers me. You need to secure a husband, to secure all this -" she waved her arm toward the mansion but Lyra knew her former governess was speaking of the other Estates also. "Besides, as such a wealthy young woman, you will not simply be able to escape society as you thought to earlier. You are a Lady and you can not think of being a mistress to some Redcoat now - it would ruin you utterly."

"If I marry, all that I own becomes my husbands," Lyra pointed out.

"If you don't marry, then perhaps Mr. Simms will find to another way to take it from you, he is still your next of kin."

"We shall see," Lyra said quietly. "I will make no decisions just now."

Eleanor sighed heavily, sensing her former charge was going to be quite stubborn indeed.

::

_A/N - Okay, so, unmarried women weren't supposed to be able to own their own properties and the like, unless they were widows. But I recently saw a documentary 'Who Do You Think You Are', which followed actress Alex Kingston's genealogy. She had an amazing ancestor, Mary Ann Dalton, a widow who used to run brothels and made a crap load of money. She was known as Polka Poll. Anyway, her son was a bit of a gambler and womaniser and she refused to leave him her hard earned Estates (she had three by the time she died) because she knew he would lose them. She left him a small sum of money, and left the Estates to his daughter, her granddaughter. She left the Estates to her granddaughter 'free of her husbands debts and control' he was not able to sell them or do anything at all with them really. _

_So this has set a precedent for me, though it all occurred a few decades after the RevWar and perhaps the laws had changed by then, perhaps it would not have been possible for Lyra to have inherited all that she has, back in 1780, so I hope you'll all forgive me if you find it a little incredible to believe. I do try to stay true to the period, but I reckon Lyra's suffered enough and needs a little power and control over her life again._

_:-)_


	36. Chapter 36 - Confrontations Part One

**Chapter 36 - Confrontations Part One**

Lyra could hear Tavington yelling, no - _screaming!_ with rage from the other side of the mansion. She cast a shocked look at Eleanor and Sally, who both shrugged. She glanced at her guards, but they were equally perplexed.

"We have been with you, Miss Mathan. How could we know what's wrong?" Richard pointed out reasonably.

"Well, he is in a rage, that's for certain." She picked up the pace, and before long she was running through the mansion, William's words becoming more discernible as they drew closer. Up the stairs, they ran to the parlor.

"... To know exactly what you did to her!" He was shouting at Mr. Cole Simms. "I was told she wept for two hours, on her bed!"

"You are not her lover any more, Tavington! She is to marry my son. It is none of your affair, and if you do not calm down, I will go to Cornwallis -"

"If you have hurt her," Tavington's rage filled bellow cut Cole Simms off dead. "Cornwallis will be the LEAST of your concerns!"

Lyra darted into the large parlor, breathless, with Eleanor, Sally, and Richard behind her. The remaining Dragoons milled at the entrance.

"What did he do to you!" Tavington rounded on her at once, his eyes cold and hard, he strode quickly toward her and seized her arms with an iron grip.

"Hello to you to, William." She arched an eyebrow but did not try to pull from his grip.

"Tell me what happened!" He bellowed, his eyes blazing above her.

"William -" Lyra hesitated. Her lover was certainly in a fury, and she had no idea what he would do if he knew her Uncle had caned her. She was saved from answering by Joseph, who darted into the parlor, his eyes wide with shock.

"Where have you been, Lyra!" Rebecca Simms snapped angrily, now she was finally able to get a word in edgewise. "How dare you leave this house without permission! I demand to know where -"

She cut off suddenly and began making strangling noises, because right there in front of her, in front of everyone, Lyra placed a hand on either side of Colonel Tavington's face, lifted herself onto her tippy toes, and gave him a very warm, long, gentle kiss on his lips. Cole hissed with fury and Rebecca was near apoplexy.

"I am sorry, honey," Lyra whispered, and nudged her nose against his. With a sigh, he released her arms and placed his hands around her waist. "So sorry..." Another whisper against his lips. "I love you, I've missed you so much."

"I know," he murmured back, his lips moving lovingly along her neck.

"I've found a way out of this marriage, honey. You just have to bear with me for a few moments, alright? Hold tight to that temper of yours."

"Hold tight, you say?" His eyes glittered even as he kissed her. "Very well, but you will tell me what he did to you, my darling."

She nodded, and kissed him again.

"You won't marry him?" He asked, his mouth moving along her jaw.

"No, I'll tell him in just a moment. I needed to kiss you first, to touch you. God, I've been so stupid."

"No, darling. You've been scared," his lips drifted higher to her ear and he continued whispering, "if you are not to marry him, marry me instead." One thing he had already decided was, if he managed to stop the wedding, he would propose to her. Only she had somehow managed to rescue herself, the clever thing. He was looking forward to learning how, but for now... he smiled down at her, waiting expectantly for her to accept his marriage proposal.

Lyra's eyes widened, and she was shocked to silence.

Finally the sounds from around the room began to intrude on their private moment, Lyra had managed to drive them out completely. Her Grandmother and Uncle, both raging about going immediately to Cornwallis, they would have Tavington removed from the army, stripped of his rank and titles.

William, hearing their threats, lifted his menacing gaze to them, ready to do murder.

"Honey," Lyra kissed his cheek. "Allow me?"

He nodded curtly, curiosity warring his fury.

"You have seduced my granddaughter! Stolen her virtue! You will be court marshaled!" Rebecca was screaming. "I will see you flogged for this! You will be whipped, to within an inch of your life! And you!" She rounded on Lyra. "You whore! You dare to carry on like this, in full view of us all!" She turned to Tavington, who had tensed, his eyes cold and hard once more. "I will have you removed from this house, you and all your Dragoons! Lyra - you will marry Joseph, you will not see this man again!"

Through out Rebecca's tirade, Lyra had been stroking Tavington's face gently, calming his rage as absently as one calmed a nervous horse.

"Grandmama, I paid Mr. Sampson a visit this morning," her words, simple and quietly spoken, had a devastating effect on her Uncle and Grandmother.

Rebecca and Cole froze, both staring at Lyra speechless with horror.

"Yes, I was expecting this reaction from you," Lyra continued. "Now. All of this screaming is giving me a headache. All these threats against the man I love are irritating me. William did indeed seduce me," she smiled up at him as she took his hand and drew him along to sit beside her on a chaise. "And I enjoyed ever moment of it." He smiled back, incredulous. "Shall we? No need to stand on ceremony, Grandmama. _I invite you to sit._"

She smiled and waved her hand toward the chaise opposite her, a gracious wave, inviting visitors to partake of the luxuries in her home. Tavington frowned, puzzled, but the meaning of her gesture was not lost on Cole or Rebecca.

"Lyra, this is my home. Mine!" Rebecca, seething with rage, finally found her voice. "If not for my malicious mother, if not for a stupid feud, she would have left it to me! Instead she left it to your mother, merely to spite me!"

"You're wrong, Rebecca," never would she call this woman 'grandmama' again. "This mansion is mine. The house on Tradd St, mine. The farm on the Santee, mine. And lastly, Green Haven, with its crops of indigo and the revenue they have produced. It is all mine."

She held her Grandmother's eyes then her Uncle's in turn.

Joseph dropped heavily into an armchair. "Yours?" He asked weakly.

"Indeed, Joey. Grandmama Rutledge left the entire lot to my mother, bypassing Rebecca completely. Rebecca and Cole have been trying to gain possession of them through legal means for many years now, their most recent attempt was three months ago when the judge told them in no uncertain terms that he would not listen to another word on the subject. And so, when it finally became clear they could not gain them through court, they decided you and I must marry. Isn't that right, Rebecca?"

Lyra's green eyes glittered as she held the other woman's gaze. "It is the reason why you tried to rush this wedding. You wanted me safely married to Joseph, so you could force and bully me into giving up my claim to the estates. This, Rebecca, I will not do."

Rebecca bristled, as did Cole.

"I thought I told you all to sit?" Lyra said a little abruptly. Eleanor and Sally took a seat and finally, still filled with rage, Rebecca and Cole lowered themselves to a chaise. "That is better. Sally, would you call for some tea? Then stay and join us, my dear."

Sally smiled and did as asked.

"It's all yours?" Tavington asked a little stiffly.

"Yes."

"Christ..." He muttered, before falling silent.

Lyra gazed at his stone cold face quizzically, William was clearly struggling to come to terms with the discovery that his young lover was an extraordinarily wealthy woman. She sighed heavily, then decided to leave him to deal with the news as he saw fit. Right then, she had to deal with her family.

"Now, the first order of business. Joseph, you and I will not be getting married."

Joseph barked a laugh and shook his head. "I figured that would be your first move." He did not sound displeased in the slightest. She returned his smile, then she met Rebecca and Cole's gaze again, her expression shifting to cold determination.

"I am Colonel Tavington's lover, and I refuse to be parted from him for another moment. I refuse to allow you to direct my life for your own selfish ends any longer. William and I will leave this house and take up residence in my manor on Tradd St, as has been our intention all along."

"It's about bloody time!" William growled, Lyra smiled and wound her fingers through his.

Cole quivered across from her, Lyra cast him a glance and arched an eyebrow. "Yes, Uncle?"

He kept his mouth closed, though his eyes flashed and glittered.

"That's it?" Joseph laughed again. "As easy as that?"

"Yes, nothing simpler, as it turns out. Will you propose to Emily?"

"Hell yes! If her family will still allow me to marry her after all this," he seemed to deflate, and Lyra felt a surge of rage. She drew several deep breaths to calm herself and William squeezed her fingers, offering comfort, sensing her need to stay in control of herself.

"Hmm," she said finally, when she could trust her voice. "Yes, Rebecca and Cole did not think past their own needs, when they tried to force us to this marriage. All they cared for was themselves, not the damage it would do to your prospects with Emily nor the heartache it would cause," she met Rebecca's eyes, then Cole's. "For shame."

"Lyra," Cole said in a dangerous tone. Tavington shifted angrily beside her, and this time she squeezed his fingers tight, silently restraining him. "You listen here. There are years of history that you know nothing of. You have an obligation to your family!"

"Do you still seek to force me to marriage, Cole?" Lyra asked him coldly, cutting him off. "Do you dare?"

He glared at her, stiff with fury.

"I have an obligation to _you_?" She asked, her own tone quiet and dangerous. "What of your obligation to me? Two years! And you knew, all along, what he was doing to me! What he was making me do to him!" Rage as she had never known had her in its grip, and her fury filled voice rang through the room, her calm facade shattering. "You left me, though it was well within your power to take me away! You speak of obligation _now_? What of your obligation to me? Your niece? Your granddaughter? The heiress to these estates? When you couldn't win them through legal means you tried to force me to marriage, tried to bend me to your will so you could take what is rightfully mine! I have no obligation to you! None!"

Rebecca and Cole held their silence. Lyra struggled, but finally managed to calm. It helped that Tavington rubbed her back reassuringly. When she continued it was in a quieter, more controlled tone.

"I hold the two of you accountable for my last two years of misery. My mother made her own decisions, chose to marry Thomas, but when she died you were utterly neglectful of me, only sending Mrs. Bryant back to me when you failed to win my Estates through legal channels. When I arrived here, you did nothing to welcome me as one of the family, you taunted me with my parentage, called me a whore and bastard. You caned me!"

Tavington stiffened beside her, she could feel his rage building once more.

Rebecca dropped back against the chaise and shockingly, she began to cry. Lyra thought she would never see the day the woman would show such a display! But here she was, weeping, almost as raggedly as Lyra had after her caning.

"It can't be easy," Lyra said, almost gently, "to find yourself at the mercy of a person you have treated so despicably."

Rebecca continued to cry and Cole stared at Lyra, cold, hard and... Horrified.

"He caned you?" Tavington asked softly, though his eyes were cold, they blazed with murderous intent. "Caned you."

Shit. She had not meant to mention it, knowing it would tip her lover into a battle fury. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

"Yes, Sir," Richard Wilkins answered for Lyra, "Miss Mathan spoke of it on the way to visit her manor. He caned her this morning."

"I see," Tavington rose from the chaise and stalked toward Cole, who watched apprehensively.

"He caned her for having an affair with you," Eleanor spoke up and Lyra closed her eyes again, feeling the weight of doom on her shoulders. "And for trying to talk Joseph into ending the engagement."

Tavington's rage shifted to an entirely different kind. From stormy to dead calm in a matter of moments. His stiffness fled him, he was fluid and grace once more, ready to kill.

"Did you cane her, Sir?" He asked Cole, using his deadly, soft voice, as he advanced on the older Simms, a lion stalking prey.

"Now, see here! She is my charge, and she was disobedient! I do not have to explain anything to you!"

Lyra was astonished. Her Uncle certainly had the courage of his convictions, he truly believed his actions toward her were justified. He believed he had had the right, and he did not quail under the Butcher's deadly menace.

"How many times did he strike you, Lyra?" Tavington asked over his shoulder.

"I will go to Cornwallis with this!" Cole raged, sensing that he was about to receive the beating of his life.

"Two," Lyra lied.

"Seven," Eleanor corrected. Lyra shot her former governess a baleful glance and Eleanor shrugged with a hint of a smile.

"You will receive five lashes for every strike you gave Lyra." Tavington pronounced his judgement.

Lyra's eyes widened with shock. Christ, thirty five lashes! He held his hand out, and Richard Wilkins handed him a riding crop. Without being commanded, four Dragoons of Lyra's ever present guard came forward, grabbed Cole Simms by the arms, and hauled him from the chaise, dropping him face down on the floor.

"No!" Rebecca screeched through her tears. "Please do not harm my son!"

Tavington ignore her, instead asking Lyra a question.

"Bare skin, Lyra?"

"No. Through my skirts. Oh, honey, be merciful, would you? He is Joseph's father, and you were going to invite him to join the Green Dragoons, I know you were!"

Joseph had risen to his feet, and was watching with horror, clearly conflicted. His mind whirled, this was his father who was about to be caned!

His father, who had caned Lyra. Who had stood in the way of his future happiness with Emily, had left Lyra on the farm to suffer the attentions of her own father, only 'rescuing' her when it became apparent that they needed her in their plot to take the mansion. He felt himself stiffen, something hardened inside him.

"Do not worry about me, Lyra," he said firmly. "He struck me with a cane enough times when I was a boy."

"Good," Tavington muttered. "I prefer it without all the complications. I have no desire to be merciful at the best of times, and this... Is not the best of times."

He began without preamble. Part of Cole's punishment was the shame of having Dragoons manhandle him, jerking down his breeches while Tavington watched, his cold eyes impassive. Cole hollered and bellowed, while Rebecca screamed and wept.

It was over quickly, Tavington did not draw it out, his arm moved in a blur of movement, so fast Lyra could not make it out, though she could see his lips moving as he counted, and she heard the whistle of the riding crop cutting through the air, the strikes as it struck the bare flesh of Cole's buttocks. Cole bore it as best he could, barely grunting at first, but toward the end the pain was simply to much to bear and he writhed and howled as much as Lyra herself had under his cane earlier that morning.

Tavington was breathing heavily at the end of it. On the count of thirty-five, he jerked away and stared down coldly at Cole, his lips twisted in a sneer, his cold eyes drilling holes in the back of the spluttering man's head. Cole could not move, not even to cover his nakedness. A wailing Rebecca tore a blanket free from where it half covered a chair, and she knelt at her son's side, weeping as she covered his reddened rump with the blanket.

"Cornwallis..." She gasped through her tears. "Will hear... about this... this... outrage..."

Lyra tightened her lips. "I thought I told you not to threaten my lover, Rebecca? I will hear no more of it! The two of you have behaved despicably and should be thrown from this house! I received a caning myself, at this man's hands. Were you planning on telling Cornwallis that? Hmm? Were you planning on telling him how you left me, on that farm? How you planned to force me to cede my birthright to you? Were you planning on telling him the _means_ you would have used to achieve this? Would Cole have caned me some more until I relented, hmm?"

Rebecca fell silent, though the occasional sob ripped from her. Cole gathered himself, he rose to his knees, then to his feet - slowly, very slowly. His breeches were pulled up, the buttons secured, then he very gingerly lowered himself to the seat once more. Lyra understood - his rump must have hurt far more than hers - he had received far more lashes, on his bare skin at that. It must have killed him to sit on his backside, but he did it - his pride would allow no less. He was quiet for some time - they all were quiet, as everyone resumed their seats. Rebecca lowered her head, not meeting anyone's gaze.

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**_A/N - thanks for all the reviews! And the Guest reviewer - who was grinning while reading the chapter - thank you! It's good to hear! Hopefully there were some more feel good moments in this chapter as well. I like the idea of Lyra confronting her nasty kin! Rather than simply slinking away to her manor on Tradd St... _**

**_:-)_**

**_Also, sorry for splitting the chapter in half like this, but it was too long - it would have been six thousand words, if I had left it all in one chapter! _**


	37. Chapter 37 - Confrontations Part Two

**Chapter 37 - Confrontations Part Two**

Richard walked across the room, carrying a tray with a tea pot, milk, porcelain cups and sugar. He set it down on the bureau.

"The servant was too scared to come in, Miss Mathan," He explained as he began pouring the tea.

"Sir, allow me," Sally darted forward, mildly outraged that this Dragoon thought he must play the servant. She poured for Lyra first, though she was a little confused about who would come next in the order of things. She settled on Tavington, as Lyra's consort, then Joseph, Mrs. Bryant, Richard Wilkins. The Simms came last, she handed them their tea with a subtle expression of distaste on her face, before sitting not far from Lyra, with her own cup in her hand. No one said a word, after the events of the day so far, Lyra's slave joining them for tea was the least incredible.

"I take it you have a plan, Lyra?" Cole said finally. He swallowed hard against the pain in his rump, took a sip of tea, then continued in the same deep but polite tone. "You mentioned we were at your mercy."

"Indeed. My first thought was to have the two of you removed from this house, you have a town house in Charles Town - you do not need to live here. However, I have decided that I will leave, with William and my Dragoon guard. William and I will reside in my manor for the remainder of our stay in town. I do not believe we need to air our dirty laundry to the world, therefore you, Rebecca, will continue to make preparations for the ball."

"The ball will go ahead?" Rebecca asked weakly.

"Yes. It will. All of the invitees will need to be informed that the wedding has been cancelled and that will cause enough of a stir. But the ball will take place, to celebrate my return to Charles Town and my coming out to society. My debut is _yet another thing_ you have neglected, _another_ thing you have denied to me." Rebecca withered under Lyra's hard stare, seeming to age before her eyes. "Joseph - you will need to speak to Emily and her family. If they agree to allow the two of you to marry, your engagement will be announced at the ball, I will stand at your side, we will show a united front."

Joseph smiled at her choice of words - they would still be a united force, the two of them, but as cousins, not husband and wife.

"Very good, Lyra," Tavington approved. "Clever, there will be enough whispers of a division in your family as it is."

"And their engagement will give us another reason to celebrate. I do not like to be centre of attention, I'm not looking forward to it at all, to be honest. But it must be done, and you, Rebecca, will organise it all."

"Yes, of course," the older woman said quietly.

"William and I will leave here, this afternoon, as soon as we are packed. Another thing you will organize for me, Rebecca, is for all of the items listed in my mother's Will to be made available to me. I will return tomorrow to inspect them all. I believe there is a porcelain dinner set? I wish to give it to Mrs. Bryant, so please ensure none of it is 'accidentally' broken between now and tomorrow, for I have no wish to become wroth with you."

Rebecca nodded, but Cole snapped, "Christ, do you know how much that set is worth?"

"I don't, though I'm sure its worth quite a bit. I do not care - it is Eleanor's now."

"Lyra, I was joking when I asked you to give it to me!" Eleanor laughed. "I was joking!"

"I'm not," Lyra said firmly. "It is yours."

Mrs. Bryant hesitated, then nodded her head, graciously accepting the extravagant gift. "Thank you, Lyra."

Tavington leaned back in the chair, watching the events unfold with great amusement. That is until -

"As for the mansion," Lyra pronounced. "I wish to cede it to you, Joseph."

"What?" Joseph breathed.

"Joey, I do not want this house. As soon as we made our way back up the lane, and my eyes fell on it, I realised what I must do. I will cede it, to you."

"You can't!" Tavington grabbed her arm, turning her where she sat to face him. "Madness, Lyra! To give away an entire mansion! You will not do this!"

Lyra quirked an eyebrow. This was the exact reason she had no desire to wed, for if she had a husband, she would not be able to make grand decisions such as the one she had just made now. He could halt her at every turn. William was merely her lover and already he was protesting - how much worse would he be as her husband? She would have to obey him with almost everything! And now she had so much...

"I have made up my mind, William," she said firmly. "I feel, in my very bones, that it is the right thing to do."

She held his eyes, saw his quiver of barely controlled rage. He let go her arm, however, and she turned back to Joseph to explain.

"Grandmama Rutledge was as much yours as she was mine. I believe she would be happy with this decision for you had nothing to do with this feud, what ever it was. Besides, what would I do with so much?"

"Build a bloody life for yourself?" Tavington muttered furiously. "For us? For our family, for the children you and I will have together?"

She ignored him.

Dear Lord, he had already decided they would marry, and she had not even said yes!

"I do not want it. It holds only miserable memories," she shot an accusing glance at Cole and the still sniveling Rebecca before turning to Joseph once more. He was hanging on her every word and Lyra sensed he wanted to be convinced, but he did not want to appear greedy. "You go to Mr. Robinson. You beg on bended knee - tell him all that has happened, that you would have been cut off, set adrift, leaving you with no means to provide for Emily. You tell him your father _approves_ of Emily and will keep your inheritance intact -" she shot Cole a stern glance and he nodded curtly, his son was getting the mansion, after all and he was now ready to agree with any of Lyra's demands. "If he is reluctant, you will tell him that as your wife, Emily will be mistress of this Estate. He will not refuse you, cousin."

"Lyra..." He shook his head, astonished. "Are you certain?"

"I am. It was your great grandmother's house too. I do not know what happened all those years ago, I find myself completely uninterested as to what caused the feud between Grandmama Rutledge and Rebecca. I care not. In the normal course of events, Joseph, the mansion would have eventually been yours, I think. Grandmama Rutledge would have left it to Rebecca, who would have left it to Cole and as his heir he would have left it to you. And as I said, I have so much. I have no desire for it. I will see Mr. Sampson about the change of ownership tomorrow. This house is yours, though there are items I wish to take with me, that belonged to my mother."

Joseph barked a laugh - utterly incredulous, then he rose from his chair, pulled Lyra up and lifted her in the air. "I can't believe you'd do this, but I'm not going to gainsay you!"

"A word of warning, though, Joseph," Lyra said seriously as he set her back on her feet. "Emily will never be mistress of this house while Rebecca lives here. She is too manipulative, deceitful and demanding. It is up to you, but if you desire a happy marriage, I'd suggest you boot the both of them out, they can live well enough in your father's townhouse."

"I think you are right, Lyra, though I will let Emily decide."

"Go to her now. She has suffered long enough."

Her cousin nodded and left the room, she could hear him calling for his horse while he was still on the stairwell.

"Sally," Lyra saw her maid had finished drinking her cup of tea. "Would you mind organising for my belongings to be packed? You can tell off a few of the mansions servants to help you."

"Of course."

"I'll help you," Eleanor rose from her seat and the two women left the room. William nodded at Lyra's guard, and the Dragoons withdrew also.

Tavington and Lyra were now alone with the Simms.

Lyra sipped her tea, taking a moment to pull her thoughts together. There was so much she wished to say, so many things she needed to make certain of.

First and foremost, as the 'head of her house', would Cole continue to try and gain possession of Lyra's other Estates - 'Green Haven', the indigo plantation, being the most lucrative? What if he found a way around the conditions stipulated in her mother's Will? She was vulnerable until she married, but she simply was not ready to make that commitment yet, though she loved William dearly.

No. There had to be another way to make certain Cole would not try. An idea came to her and Lyra began to speak quietly, yet firmly.

"I hope the two of you realise, that despite believing you had the right on your side, if the other families learn on your actions you would lose respectability? You might even find yourself shunned from the society you currently preside over."

Rebecca and Cole tensed as one, and Lyra nodded imperceptibly. Yes, she had hit the mark, now to drive her point home.

"Your own granddaughter," she said to Rebecca, then to Cole, "your own niece. A woman of your own blood who needed your protection, you instead left to her fate. Until you had need of her. What if it became common knowledge, that I was forced to pleasure Smith and that you knew of it, _all along?_"

The two of them shifted uncomfortably, though neither said a word.

"Yes," Lyra mused. "It would be quite devastating to your reputation, I believe. Leaving a _family member_ to the mercies of, and her virtue compromised, by a brute such as Thomas Smith. And then to use me in such a horrid manner - forcing me to marry so that you could cheat me out of my inheritance?" She shook her head with disgust. "Quite a despicable way for a Gentleman and a Lady of your standing to behave. Especially when you already hold so much of your own wealth. You would not only be shunned, but you would be considered greedy fortune hunters! I doubt our peers would welcome you, and you would be constantly spoken of and derided."

"Blackmail?" Cole said harshly. "Where else would you be going with this?"

"Yes, blackmail," Lyra admitted, unashamed. "I do not ask for much, Cole. Fairly simple things really, easily granted."

"What things?" Rebecca asked, and Lyra knew for certain, then, that she had judged correctly. Her family would not wish for their actions to be made common knowledge.

"Green Haven is mine. You will not drag me through the courts in another attempt to take it," Lyra said firmly.

Cole hesitated. The revenues that Green Haven produced were enough to tempt him to try to assert his authority as Lyra's kin, but the threat of blackmail stalled him. Their previous attempts to take control of the Estate had come to nothing, and now with their reputation under direct threat it simply was not worth it to keep trying. "Very well," he agreed finally, casting a glance at his mother. "We have been so far unsuccessful in any case, there is no point in trying further."

Rebecca eventually nodded and it was Lyra's turn to bristle. She had judged correctly, they would not have left her alone, they would have tried some deception to take it!

"What else?" Cole asked, sensing more.

"Nothing more than I would expect from a Gentleman and a Lady!" Lyra snapped furiously. "I should not even have to have this discussion with you! Good behavior! Manners! Do you think the two of you are capable of such?"

Cole quivered, the insult in her words was clear. Lyra continued in that same, furious tone.

"There will be no more talk of my manner being akin to a savage, or a monkey or an elephant! No more demands that I play the pianola, only to disparage my performance all the way through! No snide remarks, you will show me utmost respect, especially in public! Furthermore, if I hear even one whisper about being a bastard or a whore, I will make your despicable behavior and neglect toward me known, I will publish your crimes myself!

She held both their gazes firmly, though neither gave argument.

"The two of you will do your utmost at the ball to show only solidarity between us all."

Another firm look, and though Cole shifted in his seat and his eyes glittered angrily, he still voiced no objection.

"As the head of my house," Lyra sneered at Cole with disgust, "you may have some grounds to encourage me to marry a man of your choosing. You will not allow yourself to be tempted, Sir. You will acknowledge now that I am no longer under your authority. I will live my life the way I choose and I choose to live it at Colonel Tavington's side. I will reside on Tradd St, and then leave with William when he leaves for Fort Carolina."

Cole breathed heavily with frustration and fury. She was demanding he let her, and more importantly her _wealth_, go completely. How much could have gained if he had married her back into the Rutledge family? The Simms and the Rutledge's had not been bound together since his grandmother had joined the Simms family. A woman of Lyra's wealth could have bought a very prestigious match indeed, for the mutual benefit of both families! He finally nodded acceptance, however, for she was proving herself too headstrong to be used, and she held all the power.

"I agree," he grated coldly, "I will not attempt to exert the authority of kinship over you any further."

Not quite the wording she was hoping for but Lyra had to concede that her Uncle could not actually release her from his authority until she was legally married. Oh well, as long as he kept his words, she must be satisfied.

"Very good, Sir. In addition, there will be no complaints made to Cornwallis. As the head of my guard, William has acted completely within his rights to cane you in retaliation for the caning you gave me. There - will - be - no - complaints, now, will there?"

"None," Cole spat. "There is nothing to make a complaint about, is there? Nothing happened."

"Ah, of course," Lyra smiled maliciously. "How humiliating it would be for you, if everyone knew?" She laughed, then subsided when Tavington took hold of her hand and shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

No boasting. Very well. Boasting was quite unbecoming, after all!

She assumed a more serious expression, and continued in a cool tone. "Are we in agreement?"

"We are," Rebecca said weakly.

"Very good. We shall take our leave of you then, and return tomorrow. Please have my mother's belongings ready before mid morning," she turned to Tavington, who was sitting hard faced and cold beside her. "I am certain Sally and Mrs. Bryant will have most of my belongings packed by now, and are probably already loading them onto the carriage. Shall we go and see?"

He nodded once and they rose.

"The carriage?" Cole asked. "You wish to loan -"

"_Loan?_" Lyra cut him short and arched an eyebrow. "My mother left me that carriage, Cole. It belongs to me."

"I just had the seats cushioned and reupholstered!" He spluttered. "The lacquer freshened! I put in a lot of time and expense into that carriage -"

"Thank you, Cole," Lyra smirked, it was hers and she would take it.

Tavington chuckled despite his fury. Giving away an entire holding, what was she _thinking_?

Lyra fell silent and glided gracefully beside her irritated lover.

"You're angry with me?" She asked as they walked through the mansion.

"Furious." He said shortly.

"It was the right thing to do, honey. And I believe my great grandmother would be pleased."

"An - entire - estate!" He hissed down at her, then drew a deep, steadying breath to gain control of his temper. It didn't work, he was still immensely angry. "Christ, Lyra! It is not too late to change your mind - it still belongs to you. Tell Mr. Simms you -"

"I have no use for it," Lyra interrupted him. "I could never bring myself to sell it, William, and it does not generate income. Undoubtably, Rebecca and Cole have been maintaining the property all these years for it has not gone to rack and ruin. But now that it is mine, I only have the income from Green Haven to maintain _this_ property, Green Haven itself _and_ Tradd St! I will sell the farm, that won't be an issue, but I do not want all of my profits from the indigo plantation to go into _this_ mansions upkeep!"

Tavington continued at her side in stony silence.

"Tristan once told me I could get twenty thousand for the farm, at least. You would not believe how I am kicking myself now, for asking you to burn the house," she sighed heavily. "Be that as it may, I should still get a goodly sum for it, adding to the amount Sampson told me I have."

He stopped dead, at the top of a short flight of stairs. "Which is how much?"

"Sixty thousand pounds, or there about."

"Christ above!" Tavington's eyes widened with shock.

"So you see? I do not need this mansion."

"Why do you need me to see your reasoning, Lyra? I have no say! I am not your husband and you will never marry me - not now, not if it means relinquishing your control over these Estates!"

Lyra fell silent.

"Your wording was not lost on me, Lyra," he snapped. "Never once did you refer to me as your fiancé, even after I asked you to marry me now that you are free of Joseph. _'I am Colonel Tavington's lover'_, you said. You told them you choose to live at my side, but made no allusions to the eventuality of marriage!"

He stomped down the short flight of stairs and she followed him in silence, trying to gather her thoughts. He marched ahead of her, pushed into his bedchamber, then held the door open, closing it only when she had entered. By silent agreement, the couple decided to wait until they were in private to continue their lovers tiff.

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_A/N - again, thanks for the reviews - I appreciate them immensely! Lisette and the smiley guest - thank you!_

_ I know this chapter was a little less charged than the last one, no one screaming and no one caned! :-)_


	38. Chapter 38 - A Lovers Tiff

**Chapter 38 - A Lovers Tiff**

Lyra sat down on the edge of his bed, watching as her Redcoat lion paced. She could feel the waves of irritation emanating from him as his long strides carried him from one end of the room to the other. He stopped abruptly in front of her, his face was as hard as stone but his pale eyes flashed anger.

"What of Miss Price?" She asked him before he could confront her.

His jaw hung open like a swinging door and he stared at her with astonishment.

"How in the world do you know about her?" Shock jolted through him, his eyes were saucers.

"Men are worse gossips than women, William," she laughed at his expression. "Even Dragoons. Not that they said anything to me directly, but they have spoken of things that perhaps they shouldn't have, when they did not know I could hear. When were you going to tell me about her - your _fiancé_? When you left me after the war, and returned to England?"

"Lyra! Is that what you thought? That I'd leave you for her?"

"Yes," she answered truthfully. "You've given me no reason to believe otherwise. You're engaged to her, William!"

Tavington tightened his lips. "No wonder you thought I had abandoned you," he muttered. "You thought it would happen eventually, that it was a reality that had simply not occurred yet!"

"Again, you gave me no reason to believe otherwise." Lyra shrugged.

He gazed down at her cooly, choosing his words with care. "I sent a letter to Miss Price not three days ago, canceling our engagement, for I decided I will never leave the Colonies to return to England, and I could never marry Miss Price. She will not know for another seven weeks, of course, and no doubt it will come as quite a shock to her. And to our families," that was an understatement. He curled his lip and puffed a heavy breath of irritation.

His mother - one of the few people he cared for in this God forsaken world, was bound to be furious. And, in no small measure, ashamed of her son.

What in the world would she say when she discovered her very aristocratic and Loyalist son had proposed marriage to a Colonialist?

To a _bastard_?

Christ.

He half expected her to take the first ship from England, as soon as she learned of it!

It was a damned good thing Lyra was as wealthy as she was and had a connection to such a strong and aristocratic family as the Simms, for Tavington's family would not accept her, otherwise. He shrugged it off, it did not matter - he would not be returning to England with Lyra in any case. They could live happily without the approval of either of their families, with thanks to Lyra's wealth, not to mention the rewards and gifts he would receive in acknowledgement of his efforts from the Crown when the war was over.

They needed only each other. He cupped her face with both his hands, holding her gently as he gazed down at her.

"Marry me. I love you, Lyra, I will never leave you. I do not want you to be my mistress any longer, not now I've seen how little power I have to protect you. Only as your husband can I stop Cole Simms from exerting his authority over you, darling - surely you must see that? Marry me, then no one will be able to pull us apart again."

Lyra was thoughtful, chewing at her bottom lip with her teeth. Then, finally, she shook her head.

"I love you, never doubt it. But... After all this... No, I want to be your mistress again, I want it to go back to how it was."

"You really won't marry me?" He asked, astounded. "You must know I am not asking because of your inheritance, I asked you to marry me before learning of it!"

"I do know, honey. Even if you had asked me _after_ learning of it, I would not think that. I know you love me. But still, my answer is no. Perhaps one day... But... No. I will bear you children though. A son."

"To give you an heir for your bloody Estates!" he raged, seeing her intention at once. "To make certain Simms can't take your properties, if he reneges on his promise and decides to ignore your threat of blackmail! Fuck, Lyra. I am not a prize stallion!"

He lurched away from her, then sat on the edge of the bed beside her and lowered his head to his hands. He had just proposed, and she refused him! Wanted him to be a sire, nothing more! Christ!

He felt her soft hand move along his back and did not push her away when she climbed onto the bed and embraced him, bodily, from behind.

"I love you," she said against his ear. "I always will. I do not know what the future holds, but for now, I just want it to be as it was. Honey, can't you understand?"

He scoffed bitterly, did she think him stupid? He half turned to her, his eyes were ice as he began listing her reasons to not marry.

"You don't want a husband, for he will have full control over you, he can rape you, hurt you, force you to submit and no one will gainsay him. You see, Lyra, I _do_ understand, but don't you trust me not to hurt you?"

He twisted around further to look at her, saw her arched eyebrow.

Christ.

He _had_ hurt her, many times in the short time they had known one another. He had almost _raped_ her, their very first night together, had slapped her many times since.

"Very well," he said gruffly, rising. He began picking up his belongings, packing for their removal to her manor house. "I will be your lover." He spat as he threw his grooming kit into his saddle bags. "I will be the sire to your mare." He picked up his pistol and gun powder, they were thrown into the bags as well. "I will give you sons. Heirs." He tore open the wardrobe, pulled out his clothes to stuff into a chest. Lyra watched him in silence, all the while. "And one day, you may learn to forgive me for the hurts I've caused you, enough to marry me."

"You think I don't forgive you?"

"Quite obviously. Or you would have accepted my proposal. Very well," he said again. "If I must prove myself to you, then prove myself I will."

He strode back to the bed and leaned down to kiss her, a hard, possessive, claiming sort of kiss, on the mouth.

"You will marry me one day, darling. I have no doubt. But I will court you, as you deserve, as you have always deserved. Picnics. Courting gifts, I have just the thing in mind for you. I will bring you flowers, take you to a fine tavern for dinner. I already have your heart, I know it. But now, I will win your respect and your trust."

"William!" she cried, aghast and horrified. "I _respect_ you!"

"Hmm," he said cooly as he studied her. "Interesting is it not? That you make no protest as to _trusting_ me." He held her gaze, she was at a loss for words, realizing it was true. She did not trust him to not hurt her, not in the least.

Her silence was all the confirmation he needed. He nodded calmly, kissed her again, and continued packing.

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"Miss Mathan!" Bordon greeted Lyra warmly and offered her his hand to help her from the carriage. Eleanor and Sally came next.

"Captain Bordon," Lyra said, a little warily. Although she had been too caught up with her own troubles these last few days, she had not forgotten the disturbing discovery that the Captain had raped Anne Howard.

There was a woman behind Bordon, he quickly gestured her forward and introduced her as his wife, Mrs. Margaret Bordon. The woman was British born, like Eleanor. Though while Eleanor had been in the Colonies for more than twenty years, Mrs. Bordon had only been there for the same duration as her husband, four years. The Lady was cool, almost _aloof_ with Lyra, who began to wonder if Bordon had told his wife of Lyra's relations with Tavington.

After exchanging a few courtesies all around, Mrs. Bordon fell silent, leaving the conversation to her husband. Lyra shrugged it off. She did not care if she was shunned by the Captain's wife, for she had Sally, she had Eleanor again and she would always have William. Besides the woman was living in Lyra's home and could hardly be discourteous toward her.

Deciding to reserve judgement for now, Lyra turned to Bordon.

"We are all here, as you can see," she indicated William, who was speaking quickly to Lyra's twenty strong guard, issuing commands as he strode among the many horses. "I am uncertain now, if there will be room for us all. I would like my old bedchamber, is anyone occupying it?"

"No, Miss Mathan. I identified which was yours when we first arrived here - a little girls room with a dolls house?"

Lyra nodded.

"That chamber is still empty. As for the others, it will be easy enough to have them share two to a room, and some of them can take up one of the dining rooms - partition it off perhaps? With your permission." He said nothing about the circumstances of her sudden arrival, though Lyra suspected he must have been aching with curiosity.

"That would be perfect, Sir."

"And they can dine on rotation - never fear, the Crown will pay for all your expenses, you will not be burdened with the cost of feeding us all."

Lyra smiled at the Captain, she could well afford such costs now!

"My wife and I are currently situated in the master bedroom, but I will cede it to Colonel Tavington."

"That will not be necessary Captain, William will share with me," Lyra said a little curtly. She glanced at Mrs. Bordon with challenge in her eyes, and the other woman covered her shock swiftly, her expression becoming unreadable. Best to be upfront, however, which was why Lyra made the announcement. Mrs. Bordon could deal with the information as she saw fit - _her_ own husband had raped Anne Howard! Of course she did not know it, but the woman had far bigger concerns than who Lyra shared her bed with.

"Very well," Bordon said as Tavington strode away from the guard and joined them.

"Captain," he nodded smartly, then offered Lyra his arm. The two walked ahead of the small group into Lyra's home, ensuring everyone knew exactly who was mistress of the manor.

::::::::::::::

The interior was exactly as she remembered it. Lyra strolled through the foyer of the manor, gazing up at oil portraits on the wall, her fingers gently tracing a marble statue of a beautiful woman draped with a robe. The parlor was as richly furnished as it always had been, the furniture was no worse for wear.

"It was all covered until our arrival," Bordon explained. "Your caretakers have looked after the property with utmost care."

"They certainly have," Lyra said wistfully, she tapped a few keys on the pianola experimentally, half expecting to wince. "It's in tune!" She gasped.

"Yes, one of the first things I did when we arrived, for Mrs. Bordon loves to play and is quite accomplished. I hope you do not mind, Miss Mathan."

"Not at all," Lyra said a little uncertainly.

She did mind, very much so! This was _her_ manor, _her_ pianola! Hers! It had been denied to her for so long! How dare they presume?

And how accomplished _was_ Mrs. Bordon anyway? Lyra pushed the jealous thoughts aside, deliberately turned her back on the pianola and sat down, carefully for her rump still pained her, on a chaise lounger. The others followed suit, taking seats. Sally had disappeared, however Eleanor, William and of course the Bordon's had followed Lyra into the parlor.

"Do you see the Collins family at all? Are they in residence next door?" Lyra asked the Captain. His wife was sitting quietly at his side, her face a carefully assumed mask.

"They are in residence, Miss Mathan. But no, we do not have any contact with them. Would you like to see them?" Bordon seemed mildly surprised she would ask after them at all.

Lyra snorted indelicately.

"No, thank you," she emphatically. "I just wonder how they are getting on - Tristan was only buried a few days ago."

"Perhaps you should meet with them, Lyra," Eleanor suggested. "Pay your respects over a cup of tea, it will not kill you."

She sighed heavily, then shot a sly glance at William. "You will accompany me, won't you honey?"

"Not likely," he sniffed primly.

"You never held any particular aversion to Mrs. Katie Collins company before, if I recall?" Lyra arched an eyebrow, her voice sickly sweet with false innocence. Tavington rolled his eyes and shot her a dark look.

"Mrs. Bryant, I will drop in later today. But only to pay my respects - Tristan deserves no less. I would like to visit his grave, also."

"Of course, my dear."

"Oh, and I need to see Mr. Sampson tomorrow, before going over to Rebecca's to take my mother's belongings."

"You'll need a cart, I will organise it for you."

"Thank you."

"And I will have Mrs. Waters attend you. Your mother left some of her finer silk dresses here before departing for the Santee - perhaps Mrs. Waters will be able to alter them to fit you."

"They are ten years old, Eleanor! A decade out of fashion!"

Eleanor laughed brightly. "You can take the girl from the manor but you can't take the manor out of the girl! Never fear, Mrs. Waters is an excellent seamstress and a miracle worker."

"Very well," Lyra smiled, then tilted her head to the side, considering her former governess. "I think we've just found you a new assignment, Eleanor - your new employ."

"Oh?" The older woman arched an eyebrow.

"My assistant! My secretary!"

"Oh, dear Lord. Well, I suppose you will need one, at that." Eleanor sighed heavily, then her tone became tart. "We shall discuss my pay in private."

:::::::::::::

The tea had only just arrived when Arcam, who had taken over the duty as Lyra's butler, announced Mr. Joseph Simms and Miss Emily Robinson.

Lyra rose from the chaise to greet her guests, trying for quiet dignity in front of Mrs. Bordon who was very much a Lady with quite a regal bearing. Lyra's attempt at hauteur was destroyed, however, when Emily burst into the parlor, a whirlwind of excitement and emotion. She took the room in at a glance, then when her eyes fell on Lyra she promptly burst into tears and threw herself into Lyra's arms.

"Thank you, oh thank you!" She managed to whisper. Lyra choked back a sob, but could not hold back her own tears as she returned her friends embrace. To Hell with dignity, and to Hell with Mrs. Bordon! The two collapsed onto the seat, and Emily began speaking excitedly though she did sniffle occasionally. Joseph took a seat nearby, watching his fiancé with concern as she wept in his cousin's arms.

"Oh, when I saw Joey riding up to the manor, I could not believe it! Its been so long since he visited me at home," Emily cast a fond glance at Joseph, who smiled in return. "And then when he asked to see father on a matter of utmost importance, we were all so perplexed! We all tried to be dignified, mother, my sisters and I, but it was terribly hard. Father was very cold, almost rude to Joey, but he agreed to see him and they went into his office. And so Mamma gathered us all, told us to shush and we listened at the door -"

"Oh, you didn't!" Lyra laughed brightly and dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief.

"We did, we heard it all! Your family - dear Lord - how horrid! I am so pleased that you were able to discover their intent, and your inheritance before it was too late! Not just for me, but for you! Though you could have divorced, I suppose."

"I suppose we could have!" Lyra gasped, she had not considered that.

"Oh, no, not divorce," Mrs. Bordon's said with outrage. "Especially after the marriage was consummated - it would not be so bad for Mr. Simms, but for a young lady? A divorced woman would be shunned! Better to bear the marriage than the shame, in my opinion."

Eleanor was nodding agreement. "Certainly, I agree. But we do not have to concern ourselves with that now, thank the Lord! Naughty of you, Miss Robinson, listening at doors."

Emily blushed. "It was my mother's idea. Joey explained everything, then he asked for my hand again! We almost gave ourselves away, I was crying and my sisters gasping, Mamma had to shush us again but she was crying as well, and then Papa said no!"

"Oh no! He refused Joseph?"

"At first yes. He was ever so mad, he said that our family had been dishonored by the Simms family and that he could not think of any circumstances under which he would be tempted to accept a match that would bind our two families together, to which Joseph replied that you had ceded him the mansion! There was only silence for a while - I felt like an entire age passed by before Papa finally said, 'well, that might be one circumstance I'd accept'! Oh, how we all laughed! And cried. Papa finally realised we were there and he hauled the door open so quick we almost stumbled into his office! He took me aside, alone, and asked me if he did still wish to marry Joey and of course I said yes! And so here we are! The first bann will be read on Sunday, and Joey said you suggested another announcement be made at the ball. Oh, Lyra! Thank you so much!"

The girl burst into fresh tears and Lyra hugged her again. She noticed over Emily's head, Mrs. Bryant and Mrs. Bordon both dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs.

:::::

The newly engaged couple stayed for the remainder of the day, the small group was soon joined by Captain Wilkins, and they all sat down for a lively dinner. Mrs. Bordon and Lyra became better acquainted and while Lyra sensed the other woman's disapproval of her affair with Tavington, she was still cordial enough.

There was a moment of unpleasantness when Tavington, just before it was time to retire for the evening, finally recruited Joseph to the Dragoons, and Emily had tried to talk her new fiancé out of it, to no avail. Joseph was adamant, he had wanted to join the war effort for so long, and he would not allow anything to get in his way. Emily had hung her head, tears springing to her eyes, and both Mrs. Bordon and Mrs. Bryant had taken the young girl aside to chat with her quietly.

When they returned, Emily was a little brighter. Sill not pleased that her fiancé would be off soldiering and could very well die before they ever wed, but she smiled and joined in the conversation. After a nightcap in the parlor, Joseph announced he would escort Emily home, and Captain Wilkins left also - he had his own house in Charles Town, and was not residing at Lyra's manor.

And finally, after far too many nights apart, Colonel William Tavington and Miss Lyra Mathan retired to her room, to their bed.

::::::::

_**A/N - Sorry guys, there was something wrong with the fanfiction site but they've emailed to say its all resolved now, so third time lucky!**_

_**Again, thank you for all the reviews - I appreciate them - always! **_


	39. Chapter 39 - First Night Back Together

**Chapter 39 - First Night Back Together**

William stood by the windows, gazing out into the dark night while Sally helped Lyra ready for bed. In fairly short order, her hair was unpinned then brushed until it gleamed, she was helped out of her dresses and her stays, Sally tidied up the small dressing table, then quietly retreated to her small chamber adjacent to Lyra's.

"I suppose that means we'll need to be quiet?" Tavington turned to ask her.

"Sir, what ever do you mean?" Lyra, wearing only her shift, asked primly, then laughed and threw herself into his waiting arms. "No, Sally knows fully well what we'll be doing."

"Christ it feels good to have you in my arms again," he said, squeezing her waist for emphasis, he lowered his lips to her neck and Lyra's breath caught.

"It'll feel even better to have you inside my..." She smiled cheekily and left her sentence hanging. "Why are you still dressed?"

William chuckled, and together they attacked his belts, his buttons, his jacket and breeches. Tavington hopped on one foot, then the other while he pulled off his boots, with Lyra kissing him deeply all the while. Finally he was naked and pulling her shift over her head. Lyra reached out to stroke his heavy erection, already breathing deeply with want.

"It's been too long," she murmured, her head was spinning to be so close to him again, to smell his scent, to feel his hands on her.

"I agree," he muttered, then picked her up and deposited her unceremoniously on the top of the large bed. She giggled and scooted back, making room for him to lay beside her. They took their time, relishing in being together again. Lyra moaned softly as his hands moved over her breasts.

"I need you inside me, William…" and her words released a demon within him, he pushed her down onto her back and moved across her body to straddle her. He ran his hands down the length of her body as her hands explored the dips and planes of his chest, his stomach, further down to his heavy erection once more.

They were both breathing heavy, almost frenzied.

"You want me inside you?" He whispered against her lips before kissing her deeply.

"Oh yes…" She breathed back, her voice thick.

"Well, I am a Gentleman," he said, opening her thighs, feeling for moisture. It was there in abundance. "And will do what I have to, to please my Lady." He nudged his member at her opening.

"In that case…" She breathed, announcing boldly. "I want your fingers on me while you are inside me."

He groaned for answer, then heaved his erection in deeply and kissed her lips harshly. Her hands wrapped around his neck, holding tight to him while she met his thrusts with demanding ones of her own.

Tavington held himself propped above her on one arm, and his other hand moved between her legs to find that spot she so liked. Lyra arched her back, sighing loudly when his fingers began moving along her folds, searching for her quim. She gripped his arms tightly, her fingernails scoring his flesh.

He thrust hard and deeply, his fingers moving with greater frenzy. Sweat beaded their foreheads, as they rode each other to completion. His lips crashed to hers again, and she whimpered loudly, a long low moan, as the thrilling sensation built and then broke over her. She held herself still, as wave after wave crashed over her, and then she lay back, spent.

"Oh, please stop," She said, pulling his hand away from her suddenly very sensitive centre. She continued to meet his thrusts, wrapping her legs around his waist unbidden.

He groaned and, holding himself up on both arms now, ground into her harder, ever faster. She watched as his face contorted in pleasure, her hands ran up and down his chest, over his shoulders, up his neck to touch his face, his hair.

"Oh, my William," she whispered, feeling it build again. "Oh…." He continued his pounding, his eyes now on hers…

"I'm close, my angel," he warned her, instinctively knowing she was building up again.

"Oh, please, honey… Hold on… Just a bit longer…" She panted, pushing up against him.

He shook his head… His climax was upon him, he could not hold any longer. Lyra met him thrust for thrust, and reached down her own fingers to find her quim. She only needed to press herself for mere seconds when her second climax took her, just as his cock twitched and his seed pulsed into her.

He collapsed on top of her, his head bent to her shoulder. Eventually he rose up again, to stare at her with wonder. Then he smiled, a slow mischievous smile, he took hold of her hand, put her fingers to his lips and tasted her.

"Hmmm," he whispered, kissing her again. "So sweet…"

::::

They lay entwined for some time, kissing gently, their breaths mingling as they whispered words of love.

"Tomorrow evening," he murmured. "You are all mine - I will take you to the Kings Arms Tavern. Have you been there before?"

"No, my parents never took me, it was not a place for children."

"Indeed. The finest establishment in Charles Town, my darling. I will have a table waiting for us, overlooking the wharves, and we shall watch the sun set as we sip excellent wine."

"Hmm, romantic."

"Did I not tell you I will be romancing you from now? Courting you, and I can think of no finer place to take you." He took hold of her soft hand and began kissing the tip of each finger, then her palm, her wrist, and her lips ones more, leaving her heart pounding.

"You also mentioned a courting gift?" She smiled up at him.

"Typical of a wealthy lady, to demand such," he quipped. "Yes, I have just the thing, but it is a surprise."

"You won't tell me?" she pouted and William smiled, nipping at her extended bottom lip.

"No, I will not," he whispered. His lips moved along her jaw, Lyra tilted her head to the side and sighed with pleasure.

"Oh, I've truly missed you, William, so much," she turned back to him, her eyes shining tears. "I thought for certain we were finished, that we had been pulled apart!"

"Shh," he whispered against the shell of her ear, pulling her closer as she began to cry. "I would not have let the wedding go ahead. I would have found a way."

"So you say!" She gasped. "But it was hopeless, your career would have been destroyed! It was so close, I was so close to losing you!" She wrapped her arms around his chest and held tight.

"We would have found a way," he repeated, his hands moving up and down her back to calm her. "Christ it was bloody torture though!" He admitted. "To see you walking the gardens with him, to have to listen as everyone spoke of your wedding - to him! I thought I would go mad."

"I thought so too. I love you William, so much!"

"I know it," he kissed her lips gently, a long, lingering touch. "I love you too, my darling. I vow, I would not have allowed the wedding. I could not have withstood it, knowing you were with him on your wedding night, consummating your marriage! I would have killed him, I think."

Lyra gasped a laugh. "Better to have killed Cole. Oh, how can I be related to such horrid people?"

"Never fear, we shall leave Charles Town soon and you need never see them again, except for brief excursions to the town which will be few and far between."

"Good. When is the army moving out?" Lyra asked, recovering from her bout of weeping.

"Soon, two weeks perhaps. Does it please you to have your cousin coming with us?"

"Very much so, I'm glad he's joined the Dragoons. I would have missed him, though now I'll fear for him as much as Emily will. I understand her, I've seen you in battle, there is so much confusion and noise, and you can't see anything from the smoke from the pistols. Anything could happen to you, William. It terrifies me."

"Such is the burden of a soldier's wife," he said simply with a kiss. "I won't try to reassure you, Lyra. You would not believe me if I told you I would never be hurt or killed. But I've lasted this long, haven't I? Four years of campaigning and I have never lost a battle."

"It is the wounds I worry about," she said, tracing a hole in his shoulder, an old wound, long since healed. "Not how many battles you've won."

"And what of you? You could die in child birth, I could lose you also," Tavington pointed out wisely. "Come, darling, lets not dwell on such dark thoughts, not on our first night together again."

Many hours later the sated couple finally fell asleep in each other's arms, snoring softly until the sky lightened and the sunshine peeked through the heavy drapes.

:::::::::::::::::::::

The following days past swiftly for Lyra, for they had been filled to bursting by Mrs. Bryant - her new secretary. No invitation was refused, and so Lyra found herself visiting this family or that for tea and sandwiches, for luncheon, for dinner. Hell - Eleanor even accepted a bloody breakfast invitation on Lyra's behalf! She had been furious with her secretary, of course, for it meant she had to rise early to prepare, leaving her William, all cozy and warm, in their bed.

It was pleasant, she had to admit, to become acquainted with the people of Charles Town again. Well, _mostly_ pleasant - her new companions were very curious about her, about her life on the farm (the younger women sighed wistfully and called Lyra a 'lost princess'), and most importantly, about her cancelled engagement to her cousin, Joseph Simms. Lyra fended the questions off as best she could, and did her best to change the subject each time, but the question was inevitably asked again, by another group of acquaintances at yet another social gathering.

Lyra did manage to get a few of the things done which needed doing, namely pouring over all of the items her mother had left her in her Will, jewellry, silks, lace, a snuff box, exotic fans - a few of which were imported from far and wide, it seemed her mother had quite a liking for unusual fans. The porcelain dining set was entirely intact, and packed away perfectly for Eleanor to take to her small house. Though Eleanor had only been to her home a few short times in the days since Lyra returned to her manor, for the younger woman needed her former governess close by.

The visit to Mr. Sampson was over and done, Joseph had accompanied her, for he had needed to sign the paperwork that would cede the mansion to him. He had allowed his grandmother to remain at the mansion, until such a time as he was married and Emily would become the properties mistress. His father, however, had been expelled - spitting and swearing - to his own manor not far from the mansion.

At one point, William had taken Eleanor aside and ensured the woman allowed time for him to spend with Lyra.

Eleanor, in her new role as secretary, was only too happy to make as many occasions for the couple to be together as she could. She wanted them _married_, and was quite wroth with Lyra for not instantly accepting the Colonel's proposal. She could not understand it at all! At first she had thought Tavington a cad, until she learned he had indeed proposed marriage. And ever since, she had been on the war path, almost bullying Lyra into accepting William, before their affair was discovered and her reputation ruined.

As for William, he understood only too well. He had indeed treated Lyra terribly at times, and although it irritated him no end, he accepted he would now need to prove himself. As promised, he took Lyra to the Kings Arms Tavern. It had been quite an experience for Lyra who had never dined in a public place before. And, over their lovely dinner, he had finally given her his first of many courting gifts, a large dark green emerald on a thick gold chain.

"The exact colour of your eyes," he had said warmly. The emerald, in its gold filigree setting, had belonged to his grandmother and Lyra had felt honored to be given it.

He took her on a picnic the following day, presenting her with a lovely bouquet of flowers. He had said he would court her and thus far, in Lyra's opinion, he was doing a wonderful job of it. She had told him so too, also declaring that at the rate he was going, she might very well fall in love with him!

The days flew, one blending into the next until Sunday arrived, the day of the ball. She attended church with her family, to be with Joseph and Emily when the first bann for the engagement was announced.

After church, Lyra reluctantly returned to the mansion with Rebecca, to go over the last details for the ball that would be held there that evening.

::

"It is beautiful," Lyra conceded reluctantly as she walked through the ballroom. Her grandmother had excelled herself.

Tavington had accompanied her, but was now standing off to the side, leaning against the wall as he watched Lyra inspect her grandmother's efforts.

"I am certain you will find no fault with it, Lyra," Rebecca said. She had recovered much of her equilibrium, but was still fairly careful with her granddaughter. "I have the seating arrangements for you to inspect, in case you wish to make last minute changes. The menu cannot be changed, so we will need to go ahead with what I have deemed appropriate. The band will already be playing when people begin to enter, but the dances will not begin until 5.30. The musicians will stop at 7.00, at which time you will be formally introduced to the assemblage for your debut. At the same time, Joseph and Emily's engagement will be announced by me, as you requested. We shall all stand with the couple, your Uncle also."

"Very good Rebecca. It is important we show a united front. It is only for one night, after all, and then we will be rid of each other."

"Lyra -" Rebecca paused and Lyra arched an eyebrow. Her grandmother sighed. "Don't you think you should call me Grandmama tonight? And Cole, you really should address as Uncle, if you wish people to believe we are a closely knit family."

Lyra hesitated. "It galls me, Rebecca," she said finally. "To address either of you as my close kin, when neither of you have done anything to welcome me into this family. You used me, or tried to. You left me there on that farm, with _him_! Only retrieving me when it suited your own ends. You have both behaved despicably and I have no desire to acknowledge either of you as my family."

Rebecca lowered her eyes and turned aside.

"Be that as it may," Lyra sighed heavily, vexed. "I happen to agree with you. It would be best for Joseph, and for Emily. I will address you as Grandmama tonight, and Cole as Uncle, but never again. Come to think of it, I will probably never see you again after tonight, so it won't matter anyway."

"Never... What do you mean?" Rebecca had not turned to Lyra, and the younger woman frowned. Her Grandmother's voice had quavered for a moment then.

Dear Lord, was she _crying_? Surely not, not now.

"I mean that in a week or two, William and I will leave Charles town, for Fort Carolina. I will remain with him where ever he may go, and perhaps never return to Charles Town again."

"But... What of..."

Lyra was not mistaken. Rebecca tried to hide it, but she was, indeed, weeping.

"Yes?" She asked the older woman coldly.

"Your family..?"

"Family!" Lyra barked a laugh. "You must be joking! Sentimentality - from you? For a whore like myself, a bastard? Do not make me laugh, Rebecca," she put special emphasis on the other woman's name, deliberately refraining from calling her Grandmama.

"I know I have been harsh with you, Lyra. I know I said some things that I should not have. I did somethings I should not have. But I do love you -"

"Love!" Lyra bristled as fury welled inside her. Tavington took a step forward but she waved him down. "Love! You did not love my mother, you do not love me. If you did, you would not have left me there!"

"I was angry!" Rebecca burst out with passion. "Angry with Claire, for falling for that brute! For getting with child. For marrying him as soon as John was in the ground. When Mrs. Bryant sent word of what Smith was doing, I felt certain she must have been exaggerating!"

"Even if he had only kissed me," Lyra flared back. "That should have been enough for you to take action! Exaggerating? Christ, woman! He made me sit on the edge of my bed, I had to take his _cock_ out of his _breeches_ -"

"Oh, no, please -" Rebecca made to cover her ears but Lyra was ruthless, she took hold of the older woman's wrists and pulled her hands down, raising her voice all the while.

"- made me hold it, made me _jerk_ him until he spilled his seed all over my hand and the coverlet of my bed!"

Rebecca was crying in earnest now, and trying in vain to put her hands over her ears, though Lyra held her wrists fast.

"And he touched me, also! Made me lie back on the bed, so he could do the same to me! We would marry, he said. He would get children on me, he said. Boys, so he could claim my manor, as he assumed those were the terms of the Trust. And when I protested his mad plan, when I tried to protest touching him, he beat me, Rebecca. Far worse than Cole and his cane - I was left with bruises, so many bruises, so much pain!" She could barely speak through her tears - when the Hell had she begun to cry? "Until I did not even bother protesting any more. Until all he had to do was enter my room and I would rise from my bed and do what I knew he wanted!"

Both were breathing raggedly, both crying. Lyra released her grandmother's wrists but the older woman barely noticed, her brief explosion of spirit was spent.

"That is what you left me to, Rebecca," Lyra managed through her tears. "So please, do not try to convince me of your love and affection now."

With her back straight, Lyra wiped her tears and walked away, grasping Tavington's hand as they left the room. They walked through the mansion to an empty chamber, where Tavington locked the door and Lyra fell against him, weeping in his arms.

:::

**_A/N - Sorry, I know I skimmed over a few days here, but there was not a lot happening in Lyra's life - well, actually there was, but she was mostly flittering from one engagement to another, sorting out the mansion's ownership, going over her mother's heirlooms... Though I could have gone into a little more detail about her dates with Tavington, I suppose..._**

**_:-)_**

**_I can't believe I've written almost forty chapters! Forty chapters! And I'm still not done yet! Thank you for sticking with me so far - its so great to look at the stats counter and see so many people reading! So even if you are not reviewing or favourting the story, thats all good - thank you just for reading it, for sticking with me._**

**_And Smiley Guest - LOL! So funny, you've put that as your name - its good though, I know the review is from you then. I'm glad you liked the closure between Emily and Joseph, that was a last minute addition but it felt right! Thanks again for reviewing! :-) _**


	40. Chapter 40 - The Ball Part One

**Chapter 40 - The Ball - Part One**

Cole and Rebecca entered the ballroom, Lyra and Joseph following in their wake. They headed toward the grand doors where they stood in a line to greet each guest as they arrived. First in the line was Cole then Rebecca, Lyra and lastly Joseph.

It was a tedious process for Lyra, who had to bob a curtsy and offer her hand to be kissed time and again. The boredom was relieved by the occasional friendly face, Michael and Arthur Middleton for example. The two Dragoons attended the ball as guests, not as part of her guard. The same for Lieutenant Richard Wilkins - another who was there as a guest.

Wentworth had charge of her guard tonight. The men stood along the walls and at the doors, unobtrusive.

Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins came in behind their son - Lyra liked them immensely and had spent an enjoyable afternoon the previous day, having tea and sandwiches with the Lieutenant's parents.

Captain Bordon and Mrs. Bordon entered, Lyra was cordially polite to them both - all the while wondering where William was. Katie and Bradley Collins arrived, Lyra had to grit her teeth while Bradley bent over her hand to kiss her fingers. She shared a polite word or two with them and breathed a sigh of relief when they moved on.

Where the Devil was William? Agh!

Lyra resisted the urge to bounce on her toes to see over the heads the sea of people. It would hardly look dignified, especially in her very fashionable silk gown. Dear Lord, the gown was as wide as she was tall! Or close enough. At its widest point, it extended out for three feet to either side of her. She was so very glad the gown had dark green embroidery, the perfect match for Tavington's emerald nestled between her breasts.

Lord Cornwallis arrived, with Brigadier General O'Hara. Of course they would be invited to the ball. It came as no surprise to her, she had seen their names on the seating plans Rebecca had shown her earlier that day.

Lyra felt a flash of fury all over again over the seating arrangements. Her Grandmother had deliberately placed Colonel Tavington far away from Lyra. Lyra, of course, changed that promptly, crossing the names out on the plans and placing them side by side. She made a few other rearrangements as well, placing Emily and Joseph near her. Rebecca had pursed her lips but said not a word.

Some more of Cornwallis General's and Aide de Camps where arriving. Then there was Mr. and Mrs. Middleton, Michael and Arthur's parents. Still more people arrived - ah, there was Captain James Wilkins, she wondered momentarily why he had not arrived with his brother. But then he was bowing over her hand with a smile and she smiled back brightly.

She arched an eyebrow and mouthed to James, "where is William?"

"Probably making himself pretty for you, Miss Mathan," he whispered back with a laugh. Lyra's expression was scandalized.

"Pretty?" She whispered, but he was already moving away, still chuckling under his breath. The handsome Colonel could _never_ look _pretty_! Michael Middleton - now _he_ was pretty... No, not her William, thank you very much!

And then Emily and her family arrived, and Lyra broke protocol to embrace her friend warmly. Mrs. Robinson had been one of those who had invited Lyra to dine with them, and Lyra judged the other woman was trying to foster a friendship between Lyra and her daughters. She was only too happy to oblige her, the Robinson girls where by far her favorite companions in Charles Town society.

And then Colonel Tavington was being announced.

Lyra's breath caught, she watched him approach, feeling almost light headed at the sight of him. Wearing his full dress uniform, with a silk lace cravat, his hair pulled back in its usual queue, freshly shaved, his Redcoat and black breeches, his black leather boots. He did not look any different to any other day, only slightly... fancier, a little more expensive. But still, Lyra had trouble breathing, had trouble not to swoon. She had trouble keeping her smile polite rather than overly warm. Surely if anyone was watching her while he approached, they would know instantly that she was a woman in love. A woman who had given her virtue to the man now standing before her.

"Miss Mathan," he said in a warm voice, his eyes roamed her face as he took hold of her hand. He kissed the top of her knuckles, but did not release her fingers. Instead the two gazed longingly at one another, both with a hint of a smile. He lowered his eyes to her breasts and smiled to see the emerald he had given her, nestled between her pale globes. "You are a vision," he said quietly and Lyra almost did swoon then, her heart pounding against her ribs.

"As are you," she managed to reply. "You are also very late."

His smile broadened. "You have missed me?"

"Ahem," Joseph feigned a cough, bringing the couple back to themselves. Tavington nodded, and finally released Lyra's hand. She sighed at the loss. He moved on to greet Joseph, to shake his hand, then entered the ballroom. Lyra did not take her eyes off him until he was lost to sight. She gave a start of surprise when she turned back to find a fine gentleman standing before her, trying to greet her.

More guests arrived, Rebecca had invited somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred families. Lucky the ballroom was so large and airy! Lyra greeted the newcomers somewhat distractedly, for Tavington was doing his level best to stay close by without _seeming_ to stay close by, and she could see him winding his way through the edge assemblage. With a growing gaggle of women surrounding him! She caught his eyes, arched an eyebrow, and he gave her a lazy shrug in reply.

Irritated, Lyra turned back to greet the last of the guests.

:::

She entered the group of women surrounding her lover, they made way for her reluctantly.

"Miss Mathan," Tavington smiled and took her hand, again kissing her knuckles. "How are you this evening?"

"Quite well, Colonel Tavington. And yourself?"

"Very fine. Enjoying the furlough from the war, it is not often I get to attend such gatherings as this."

The women around him sighed and fanned themselves, it seemed his voice was enough to make them swoon!. Well, she knew just how they felt. She took the opportunity to study the women who would latch themselves to _her man_, and was astonished to see they were both young _and_ old! All willing to fall at the Colonel's feet for his attentions - some were widows, in their early forties for crying out loud! Well, Tavington was close to thirty-five, she reasoned, and a very eligible bachelor.

"Oh, it must be horrid, riding out to war, never knowing if you will live through a battle!" Miss Middleton, Michael's younger sister simpered. And battered her eyelids!

Lyra stifled a growl.

"Indeed. Being here in a ballroom surrounded by fine ladies is the preferable place to be by far," Tavington smiled and the women simpered and sighed. Not so Lyra, whose irritation had reached breaking point.

"If you will excuse me, Sir," she said somewhat tartly. "I will leave you to these fine ladies for it seems your evening of happiness is quite secured."

"Not at all, Miss Mathan," Tavington reached out to take her hand as she turned away from him. "It will not be completely secured until you agree to dance with me. If I may be so bold, would you allow me the last dance for the evening?"

Lyra held his gaze steadily, then finally nodded graciously. "Yes, Sir, you may have that dance."

He secured several more, before she made her excuses and left him to his coterie.

Green eyed monster...

Well, Lyra had very dark green eyes, she was allowed her jealousy! Just as a red head was allowed her temper. She stalked amongst the assemblage, only to be halted by the fine young gentleman she had greeted earlier. Then another young man joined them, and another. Two more, Redcoats who did not know she was attached to Tavington. Even O'Hara came to stand within her coterie, demanding her attention and securing dances.

Her coterie. Lyra almost laughed as she looked about her, at the men paying court to her.

Take _that_, William.

::

Tavington watched Lyra with growing irritation as she spoke and laughed and flirted - _flirted!_ - with the men surrounding her. She was encircled by seven men right at that moment! Though he could not hear what they were speaking of over the music and the general din of the assemblage, he _did_ hear her bright, musical laugh.

She had taken a break from the dancing and as soon as she stepped away from the dance floor, she had been surrounded all over again. Well, so had he, he had to admit. He had shared one set so far with Lyra and as soon as he had broken away from her, his admirers had descended upon him. He drew a deeply irritated breath, and turned to answer Miss Middleton's inane question about saddles. As if the woman would ever be interested in the correct saddle to use for a war charger. She was merely trying to engage him in conversation she thought interested him to keep his attention.

He was polite enough, to her and to the other women who made up his circle, but his eyes rarely left Lyra. She seemed to be enjoying herself with her coterie! There she goes, laughing again. Well, O'Hara did have quite a sense of humour when he bothered to use it, but Tavington was not fooled.

These men saw a very wealthy, beautiful and eligible bride in Lyra, just as the women surrounding Tavington saw a handsome, eligible potential husband. That Lyra's entire circle of courtiers were all bachelors was not lost on Tavington.

O'Hara was offering Lyra his arm, and she took it with another smile, to be led back to the dancing. Well, it would be Tavington's turn with Lyra next. He excused himself from his admirers and went to stand at the edge of the dancing area, for the next set to begin.

:::::::

_I don't know what William's problem is,_ Lyra thought as she stood beside Joseph, smiling for all she was worth. _He has surrounded himself with those others, how can he be so terse and angry with me? Dear Lord!_

Rebecca and Cole stood on her other side, the Simms family all in one line before the assemblage. To Joseph's left was a radiant Emily and her parents, completing the line. The announcement of their engagement had been made, and now the Simms were making a show of family solidarity and pleasure over Joseph and Emily's attachment. At least the latter was unfeigned, they were all well pleased over the new engagement.

Lyra had been dreading being centre of attention, but her debut ceremony was surprisingly short and then Joseph and Emily's engagement was announced. The couple were so happy, so much in love, they fair glowed with it. They quickly and quite naturally, took centre stage. Lyra's debut became secondary in the eyes of the assemblage, which suited her just fine.

The families stood stoic and united - outwardly at least, smiling and clapping for all they were worth.

Her thoughts turned back to William and she scanned the crowd, searching for her lover. She found him still encircled by his coterie of admirers. His eyes, now cold and angry, were riveted on her. Two dances they had shared so far, and soon they would sit down together for dinner. Then they would have another two dances - one being the last of the evening. But if the two she had had so far were anything to go by, she doubted she would enjoy herself overly much.

She thought _she_ had been jealous over _his_ admirers, but dear Lord! That man took jealousy to a whole new level. His face hard as stone, he questioned her about what each courtier had said to her, as if she could remember the entire conversation. He had asked in a very cold tone what she had found so 'titillating', that she had to continually mock him with her laughter.

His words, exactly.

She sighed heavily - the night was not playing out the way she had imagined it would. She thought she would be at Tavington's side, that the two of them would dance, and then stroll through the crowd together. They would mingled with others here and there, but they would be _together_. Instead they were both plagued with courtiers, bent on making themselves known to the two, for they were very desirable and very unattached.

Cole and Mr. Robinson shook hands and made a show of congratulating each other on the most excellent match between their beloved children and finally the speeches and announcements were complete. The very last announcement was from Rebecca, instructing the assemblage to make their way to the dining hall.

:::

Lyra inspected her face in the mirror and fixed a loose tendril of hair. Satisfied that she was quite respectable, the left the small toiletry. She was just closing the door quietly behind her, when she heard her name. The voices belonged to her Uncle Cole and her grandmother. Both had their back to her, neither had seen her.

"If we could only steer her away from that Tavington," Cole was saying. "We could still make use of her - O'Hara has expressed an interest Mamma! _Brigadier General O'Hara!_ To make a connection of marriage with a Gentleman of his standing would be a very fine thing!"

"Well, Lyra has made her feelings on the subject known, Cole. She will remain with Tavington and we dare not interfere in case she makes our disagreement known publicly. I do not wish to risk it."

"But, Mamma!" Cole clearly did not wish to give up now he had the bit in his teeth. "_General O'Hara!_ Do you know how wealthy he is?"

"He is _not_ wealthy at all, Cole! I do not know what he does with his salary, but he has debts left right and centre! Cornwallis has had to bail him out more often than not!"

Cole paused, clearly thinking it through.

"Well, all the more reason for him to desire a young woman as wealthy as Lyra. She is taking eighty thousand pounds away from this family, you realise?"

"It was never ours -"

"Of course its bloody ours, her money is made up revenues left over from Green Haven which should have been _bloody_ mine! But she has forced me to relinquish my rights to it, and to her. And now she will be mistress to Tavington, who has no connections! Or very minor ones, anyway. His family are _in trade_ for crying out loud! Only middling class! And she would give it all to him? O'Hara is the son of a Baron! A bastard son to be sure, but that would mean he would suit Lyra perfectly, being a little bastard also!"

Lyra was about to barge in and snap her Uncle's head off. Had he already forgotten his end of the promise? Not to belittle her, call her whore _or_ bastard?! But surprisingly, Rebecca spoke up, her voice was harsh with anger.

"Cole! Enough!" Her voice cracked like a whip. "I will hear no more of this! Don't you realise what is happening here? Are you too foolish to see it?"

"What?" He asked, perplexed.

"I am loosing both of my grandchildren! Yes, I know, I treated Lyra abominably, but she has declared that after tonight, I will never see her again and I realise just how much I love her! Now, when she will take herself from me, she will leave for Fort Carolina to be with Tavington! And Joseph! He has joined the Green Dragoons and will leave when Lyra does, also for the Fort! What is left to me? Betsy's children? Your sister took herself from me long ago, I never see her children. And I lost Claire long before she died! Half of what happened back then was your fault, Cole! _Yours!_ And now not only have I lost both my daughters, but I'm about to lose my grandchildren! I will be alone!" Her voice grew quiet, and it trembled slightly. "Utterly alone."

Cole was silent for some time, but finally he said, "you have me, Mamma."

"Yes, I do. What of it? Everyone else is taken from me, and because of my own scheming. I see it now, Betsy left - she convinced Arnold to take her from Charles Town as soon as they were married - to get away from me. Claire - she probably only fell in love with Smith because I was so hard on her in the first place! And then she died - and I never got to make amends!"

She began to cry and Cole placed his arm across her shoulders, his expression, what Lyra could see of it, was utterly stunned.

"We should have... gone straight to the Santee... and taken Lyra away... as soon as Claire died!" Rebecca wailed through her tears. "Instead I left her... to her fate with that... horrible poor excuse of a man... I could have paid him off... as I did when he tried to marry... Claire all those years ago! He would have... relinquished Lyra to us... for a mere five thousand pounds!"

Lyra was trembling, her eyes welling with tears of confusion and compassion, to hear the sincerity in her grandmother's voice.

"But I allowed you... to convince me that... she was nothing but... a bastard and a shame... to our family! She is _not_ a shame! She is a lovely... strong and well bred young woman... and I find I do not want her gone from me... I want her in my life and now... I've lost her and Joseph as well!"

Lyra turned and fled, trying to get take herself away from her grandmother's stricken wails of remorse.

:::

She had no idea where she was running to until she almost bowled Mrs. Bordon over in the middle of the corridor.

"Miss Mathan!" the Captain's wife gasped. "You are in a state, what ever is the matter?"

Lyra shook her head, she had no words, only sobs. Mrs. Robinson was not far, she came over to see what was wrong. The two ladies spoke over the weeping Lyra's head, about taking her somewhere quiet where she could calm down. She barely heard them, barely noticed as they both took an arm each and led her away.

Mrs. Robinson only stayed for a few moments, in the small sitting room they had led Lyra too. She made her excuses and left her in Mrs. Bordon's capable hands. She found herself gasping out the entire story, from start to finish, to the cool British Lady.

Margaret listened gravely, and stroked the girls arm gently as she poured her heart out. She had heard parts of the story, of course, her husband had told her of Tavington's seduction. She had still disapproved of Lyra's behavior, however, still believed the girl was ruinous, abandoned.

Until now.

Finally, hearing Lyra's side of the story, Margaret saw the girl in a whole new light. A wealthy Lady, a victim of her circumstances, young and very much in love. She continued to listen, and the girls tale was so riveting, she barely noticed that the two were failing to make an appearance in the dining hall.

**:::**

To say Tavington was furious was an understatement. He sat with Emily on one side of him - that suited him well enough, for he quite liked the girl. However the seat on the other side of him was empty.

Lyra had not come to dinner. Where was she? What was keeping her? Her family were present - Joseph sat opposite of him, and at the far end of the table were Cole and Rebecca.

"But where is our dear Miss Mathan?" Mrs. Wilkins was asking a little way down the table from him. "I was looking forward to dining with her, such a lovely thing she is!"

"I'm not certain," Joseph replied and cast a surreptitious glance at Tavington, who shook his head imperceptibly. He did not know either.

"She has not wanted for dance partner's tonight, I've noticed, and she has not been without her courtiers all evening," Mrs. Wilkins said. "I think she has just discovered what an eligible young Lady she is. I've noticed quite a few mothers have been sending their sons off to court the girl, she would make a fine addition to any of these families. And make very fine connections as well."

"That she would," Mrs. Robinson replied. "If I had a son I would be encouraging him to court her. I'm surprised you have not sent your lads in, Mrs. Wilkins," she laughed, and so did Mrs. Wilkins.

"Ah, don't think I have not tried. My boys, however, have been surprisingly reticent. It is a puzzle, perhaps they have formed an attachment with other women that I do not know about yet? For why else would they not pursue a woman as charming and wealthy as Miss Mathan."

Tavington's eyes grew colder by the moment and he was soon stone faced and gripping his goblet until it almost crushed. Joseph eyed him warily and Emily laid a hand on the Colonel's arm.

"Sir, pay them no heed," she whispered. "They mean no harm, they do not know about you and Lyra."

William tightened his lips, but Emily was smiling brightly, and such a pretty thing she was, he found it difficult to be offended by her boldness. They had made a connection the other evening when both were in the depths of madness and despair, both believing their beloved's were about to marry each other.

"Exactly my point," he grated, and shot her a murderous glance. "I proposed to her, did you know?"

Emily shook her head, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"No, you didn't, because she refused me. If she was safely engaged to me right now, I would not have to endure with listening to this," he jerked his head toward the women, who were still blithely speaking of who they would recommend as a good match for Lyra. O'Hara seemed their favorite amongst the choices.

"She refused you?"

"As good as. I have to prove myself to her, for I have hurt her too often. I understand that, but this? All of these people assume she is unattached because she has not declared her connection to me. She is mine, damn it! And where the Devil is she?"

He glanced around and noticed O'Hara was missing as well. Tavington tensed, a cool frigid calm came over him.

"If she is with another man, I will kill her."

"Sir!" Emily gasped and shot a glance at Joseph, but her fiancé was across the table and was not able to hear Tavington's words, as they were spoken in a deadly whisper. She assumed a tone she hoped was calming, "Sir, you have not lacked for admirers this evening, I've noticed. I wonder how Lyra feels about seeing you followed around by all these ladies? I am certain her absence at the meal is perfectly innocent, I doubt very much she is with another man."

"She had better not be," he muttered darkly and Emily shivered at his murderous tone.

"Goodness," Emily tried for levity to diffuse the Colonel's rage. "I am glad your suggestion to me the other night was a jest, Sir! What a jealous streak you have."

:::

_A/N - Brigadier General Charles O'Hara was the 'natural child' of General James O'Hara and his Portuguese mistress. _

_To 'Smiley Guest' - thanks again! I love your reviews! :-)_


	41. Chapter 41 - The Ball Part Two

**Chapter 41 - The Ball Part 2**

"Are you still displeased to have Joseph join the Green Dragoons?" William asked by way of changing the subject.

"Yes, I have to admit that I am. I do not want him to be a soldier, what if something happens to him? My poor fiancé - I would hate for him to be hurt. Or worse..."

"Well, he could not be prouder. I am pleased he has purchased the rank of Captain, for he has already shown his ability to lead and he certainly is quite an accomplished horseman. And his sword skills... He will be a fine addition to the Dragoons."

"He has never fought another person, however, not in an earnest fight for his life. That is what I fear - the enemy will be more experienced."

"Yes, but there is no help for it, I'm afraid. Think of the good side, Miss Robinson, for once you are married you will be able to join your husband and be a companion for Lyra."

"Oh, I am coming with you, didn't you know? Mamma heard that Miss Mathan's former governess, Mrs. Bryant, was to accompany Lyra to the Santee. She sought Mrs. Bryant out and asked her to be my chaperone so I can be with Joey! And of course Mrs. Bordon will be another chaperone and Lyra will be my companion. Isn't that wonderful?"

William raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Lyra will be pleased."

"Of course we'll need to return to Charles Town for the wedding eventually."

"Hmm, weddings," Tavington muttered, his dark mood returning. "I wonder how many of those I will have to attend before Lyra finally agrees to marry me?"

He tossed his wine back and Emily fell silent, at a loss now of how to placate the jealous and angry Colonel.

:::

Tavington stalked from the dining room in search of Lyra, finally finding her alone in a small chamber.

Alone. Thank fucking Christ.

He slammed the door shut behind him and she jumped with surprise at the sudden noise. He closed the distance quickly and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her to her feet. In his rage, he failed to notice that her face was streaked with tears.

"Where were you?" he bellowed. "Who were you with? I vow it, Lyra, if you were with O'Hara -"

"What?" Lyra gasped and tried to pull free but his bruising grip was too strong. "What are you talking about? O'Hara?"

"Yes, O'Hara! He was missing from the dining hall as well, now tell me the truth!" He gave her a hard shake and she gasped again.

"William! Release me!" In her terror, her voice was more of a wail than a command.

He did not release her. Instead he leaned in closer, his gaze menacing, his eyes cold and bright with rage. "All of these men wish to court you for marriage! Every single one of them would marry you in a heart beat, even my own superior!"

"William," she breathed, weak with fear. He was in such a rage!

"Were you with him?!" He bellowed down at her and she felt the vibrations of his voice rumble through her.

"No," she whispered. "I was with Mrs. Bordon, ask her! She will tell you!"

"Mrs. Bordon?" He asked dubiously.

"I swear - go and ask her! She left not five minutes ago!"

"I will," he released her abruptly, and she collapsed onto the sofa as he turned to stride for the door.

"If you do," Lyra shouted, suddenly filled with a rage to match his. How many times must this happen?! "I will never forgive you! You should know I would never betray you! O'Hara? Really? Christ, William! You're supposed to be trying to show me I can trust you, and you have just failed me! My arms will be bruised now! Why don't you just strike me again?"

William hesitated, standing in the middle of the room, halfway to the door. He _was_ supposed to be showing her she could trust him not to hurt her, and he _had_ just failed, catastrophically.

"I can not ignore these other Gentlemen, William," she said firmly. "It would not be seemly. Do you expect me to stand by your side the entire night?"

"I admit it. I want you to myself, Lyra," he said in a calmer voice. "I want to marry you! And these families," he waved his arm toward the door, indicating the people back in the ballroom, "are all courting you for their sons! Because you are wealthy now - you own property, a very lucrative plantation and you have eighty thousand pounds - now you've sold that God forsaken farm! You are mine, damn it! How many more times do I have to ask you to marry me?"

"William, when I marry it will be to you, not to any of these others. I do not want any one else but you."

"And in the mean time I have to put up with you spending time with and dancing with all these others, it is driving me to madness!"

"You are dancing with quite a few young women yourself. Those same mother's who want me for their sons want you for their daughters!"

"All of which could stop this moment," he said intently, "if you would announce that you and I are engaged!"

"But you said you would court me!" Lyra shot back ruthlessly, cutting off William's protest. "You promised! You promised you would show me I can trust you, that you would never hurt me again!" She glanced down at her forearms significantly. "And what a wonderful job you are doing so far!"

She lurched from the couch and stormed past him. He tried to grab her but she jerked her arm from his grasp and strode from the room.

:::::

She faced him as the two moved very stiffly through the moves of the final dance for the evening.

The bloody disastrous evening - she was so pleased it was almost over. He had stood watch on her while she danced with others, even though he himself was partnered with his fair share of eligible women. And when she had danced with O'Hara - dear Lord, his eyes had been daggers!

She understood, of course. Her name was being whispered in connection with O'Hara, everyone was expecting him to begin a courtship of her, even O'Hara himself. He had smiled down at her warmly, whether they were dancing together or simply within the circle of her admirers - it was clear that everyone assumed he was her favourite. How they came to that conclusion, she had no idea - she did not think she had paid any special attention to him. But here they all were, all assuming it...

And here Tavington was, taking her hand momentarily, dropping it to take her other hand as they turned and stepped through the moves mechanically. His face was cold and hard, his jealousy and rage barely in check. He hated that everyone assumed O'Hara would be her choice. William hated that she _had_ any other choice but himself. If she would only declare them engaged, none of this would be happening. Her courtiers would slink away, and find some other woman to court.

Finally the dance was done, the two bowed and curtsied, then went their separate ways. Lyra had to join her family, for very soon the assemblage would begin to disperse. She would have to farewell all of the guests she had welcomed several hours previously. Tavington hung back, watching from a corner, for they had already organised to return to the manor together. He would wait for her, and then the two of them would... discuss... the evening's going ons.

Yes, there would definitely be a discussion. He wondered if the Dragoons in Lyra's manor would get any sleep tonight, for he knew their discussion was bound to be quite a loud one.

"Ah, Colonel Tavington, you are so diligent in your protection of our young Miss Mathan, attending to her yourself!" O'Hara came to stand beside William, oblivious to the Colonel's tension. "I've been quite privileged to enjoy her attentions this evening, I must say. Quite a lovely creature she is."

"It is my duty and my pleasure," Tavington said haughtily, his face darkening. "We missed you at dinner, Sir."

Lyra had forbidden him from asking Margaret Bordon, but there could be no harm in asking O'Hara himself.

"I was looking for Miss Mathan, as a matter of fact," the General frowned. "She had quite disappeared. You see, I was not certain who she had been seated with for the dinner meal, and I had hoped we could make a switch. But, alas, she was no where to be found."

"You were not with her?" Tavington's voice was harsh. He was unable to keep the surprise and jealousy from his tone.

O'Hara's frown deepened. "Colonel Tavington, is there something you are not telling me, Sir?"

Tavington drew a sharp breath, he held his superiors eyes without backing down an inch. He leaned forward and pinned the other man with his gaze.

"Lyra and I are in love, Sir. I proposed marriage to her several days ago. She is taking her damned sorry time accepting me, for past wrongs that I am trying to make right. So yes, there is plenty I am not telling you. Plenty I _will not _tellyou, for the sake of her virtue!"

He did not need to say any more, his meaning was quite clear. The General's face slackened with surprise.

"I see," he breathed.

"Sir," Tavington grated formally. "Will you withdraw your courtship of Lyra?"

The words sounded familiar even as he said them. Oh, yes, Tristan Collins had asked him that question not two weeks ago, after their duel, before the lad was killed in the woods trying to protect the woman he loved. He wondered with mounting tension if O'Hara would give him the same reply Tavington had given Tristan. _"I will not, Lyra is mine,"_ he had said to the boy.

O'Hara was quiet for a long moment. "I would not poach where another man has laid a claim, Colonel," he said finally. "Especially when that man is one of my own."

Some of Tavington's tension drained from him, he nodded graciously. "Thank you, Sir."

"Tell me, have you truly bedded her?"

"Yes," William replied simply.

"Lucky bastard," O'Hara laughed. A servant was passing a tray of wine glasses around for the remaining straggling guests. He plucked two goblets off the tray and passed one to Tavington. "A toast, to the lucky bastard, Colonel Tavington. May the girl refuse you so that I might still have a crack at her."

"Not likely," William scoffed.

However, the unconventional and coarse speech had done as O'Hara had intended, it eased the tension he had sensed growing between them.

"Christ, William," he muttered, dropping formalities. "She's darned beautiful, and very wealthy. And her family were open to the idea of me courting her! Especially her Uncle, he was very enthusiastic. What a bride she would have made me."

"Hmm. What a bride she _will_ make me, Charles."

"Indeed."

:::

While the encounter with O'Hara helped, in some small measure, to ease a little of Tavington's jealousy, he was still in a rage by the time he escorted Lyra to the carriage. Far too many families were still vying for her attention. Far too many young men had been busy trying to secure her for picnics and dinner parties and affairs. She had smiled and accepted them graciously, and Tavington's rage had boiled all over again.

O'Hara made his farewells, he had kissed Lyra's hand solicitously and walked from the ballroom. Tavington knew his superior would not pursue Lyra further, but those others... The Colonel remained close enough to hear them speak of her beauty, of how they longed to see her again, and how desolate they would be until they were reunited.

One of her young courtiers went as far as to complain to Lyra, "You've not said if you will dance with me at the public ball on Tuesday!"

Lyra laughed and assured the boy she would, indeed dance with him. Which began a clamoring of her other suitors, all securing dances with her.

Tavington decided then and there that Lyra would not be attending the bloody dance, come hell or high water! It was the last straw for the Colonel, these courtiers still vying for her attention - even as they bid her farewell! He waited until the families were all departed, and when it was only Cole and Rebecca, he strode forward purposefully and took Lyra by the arm.

"The carriage is ready, we are leaving," he said curtly, and ignoring her glare, he jerked her arm to get her moving. He escorted her out of the ballroom to the carriage.

She climbed in first, William climbed in behind her, and the carriage moved off into the night. He was silent, staring straight ahead, his whole body rigid and tense.

"William?" Lyra asked softly.

Tavington uncoiled like a spring, turning quickly to push her back onto the seat, pinning her with his weight. He gripped her chin with tight fingers, digging in painfully, his lips curled in a snarl, his eyes boring into hers.

She stared back at him – eyes wide, breathing heavily with fear and anger.

Breathing hard, he released his grip and lowered his head to her shoulder. His fingers gently running through her curls. Lyra sensed it was a huge effort for him, to exert the strength of will needed to control his urge to lash out at her.

Sighing with relief, she reached her arms around his body to gently caress his hair and face.

"We will announce our engagement tomorrow," she said finally.

Tavington lifted himself up onto one arm to gaze down at her.

"You are accepting me then? We will marry?"

"Yes, eventually. I want a long engagement though, William. Everyone will know we are betrothed, putting an end to this nonsense of courtiers. But you've still to prove you will not hurt me. You have shown me just now that you do have _some_ restraint, which is encouraging. But we shall have a long engagement, nevertheless."

"A long engagement..." He nodded, then smiled down at her. "Very well, I can accept that."

The carriage was driven down the lane leading to Lyra's manor, it pulled up outside the main doors.

"Let's go to bed, William…" she said softly, leaning up to kiss his neck. "It's been a very long and confusing night, I am so tired."

"Confusing?" he asked her as they stepped out of the carriage. "What happened, does it have to do with your disappearance at dinner?"

"_Now_ you think to ask me, instead of assuming I was with another man," she sniffed primly as she walked past him into the house. Nevertheless, she began telling him of the conversation she had overheard between Cole and Rebecca. She was still relaying what had happened as they entered their chamber, and Sally began helping Lyra out of her gown and unpinning her hair. Tavington leaned against the wall, listening thoughtfully.

"Dear Lord," Sally whispered. "I never thought she had it in her, to care about anybody. Though they say when you get older you tend to look back on your life and wonder where you went wrong, and regret your mistakes."

"Hmm. It does not make it easy for me, however. I have found it much easier to hate her, but now... I don't know how to feel."

Sally had no words of wisdom to share, as she combed Lyra's hair.

"And so I was quite upset, and I ran into Mrs. Bordon and Mrs. Robinson and they both led me to an empty room. Mrs. Robinson could not stay, but Mrs. Bordon did. She did not have any words of wisdom either, she said only that I had to figure it all out for myself, but that perhaps I should consider forgiving grandmama, and then perhaps I'll be at peace..."

"Perhaps," Sally said uncertainly. By her tone, Lyra knew her maid was still feeling quite vengeful.

"Lyra!" Sally said now, looking down at Lyra's bare arms. "What happened? You're covered with bruises!"

"Oh... Well... Nothing..." Lyra searched her mind for a reasonable excuse but she could not think of anything at all. Tavington shifted uncomfortably, his expression guilty, and Sally shot him a dark look.

"Hmm, well, you are finished now Lyra," Sally said quietly. Though the two were far more friendly than most maids and mistresses, it was still not her place to admonish Lyra's lover. Even if she wanted to pull his hair and kick him! He had done the damage, she was certain of it. "I will retire, if you have no need of me?"

"No, thank you, Sally."

As the door closed behind the maid, Tavington came forward to inspect his handiwork. He winced to see the dark, purple bruises, five circles on each arm. Lyra gazed up at him challengingly.

"Yes?" She asked, her tone was tart.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I should not have done this."

Lyra's eyes widened with surprise, he so rarely apologized. "No, you should not have. I was with Mrs. Bordon, William. Do you truly believe I would bed any man but you?"

"No, I do not believe it. Again, my sweet angel, I am sorry." He cupped her face with his hands gently and gazed down at her.

"It has to stop, William. You restrained yourself in the carriage, but I know it was a very large effort for you. The next time it happens, I will slap you. Be warned now, William. I will take no more. I will not marry you if I think you will hurt me, don't you understand that?"

Of course he understood. But it was because he thought she had been with another man that he had done it in the first place. They were engaged now, she would announce it officially tomorrow and it would put an end to her suitors courting her. He would not need to feel jealous over any other man again, he would have no reason to become so enraged.

Circles, he thought and sighed heavily. Excuses. He should not have done it, plain and simple.

"I'm sorry," he said for the third time.

"I know, but my warning holds. Honey, I'm tired, lets just go to bed, yes?"

"I couldn't agree more," he took her by the hand and they climbed under the covers, entwining their bodies around one another. In a matter of minutes, they were both fast asleep.

::::::::::

**_A/N - again thank you for all the reviews! I hope you liked this follow up chapter. _**

**_(Lisette and Smiley Guest - thank you both! I love a jealous Tavington, myself... If I could write him that way all day every day, I'd be a happy lady indeed! hehehe). _**


	42. Chapter 42 - Time Marches On

_**A/N - for Smiley Guet - I had to laugh when I read your review - that you have a feeling that perhaps Benjamin Martin might come along for revenge. It's spooky, really spooky, but I think you might be psychic to mention him now, right before I post this chapter! LOL**_

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**Chapter 42 - Time Marches On**

Benjamin Martin sat in the shade of a large oak,cleaning his pistols. He took extreme care when it came to looking after his weapons. His tomahawk and sword lay nearby, freshly sharpened and gleaming with oil. It was a lovely night, warm and not a cloud in the sky to block the view of the stars. His tent was close by, but it was early yet, too early to retire.

He glanced up to see Danvers approaching, his expression angry as usual. Danvers had been damned near obsessed with Tavington since they rescued their women from the Dragoons and he desperately wanted vengeance for his wife's rape. Martin sighed, he knew how the man felt. He himself had lost his own son, Thomas. His brother, Christopher. His fiancé, Charlotte. The Butcher's actions had taken them all from him and he wanted vengeance as well, but these things took time. No matter, he was a patient man.

He would get Tavington eventually, but if they moved too soon they risked ruining everything.

"Any word from Charles Town?" Danvers asked by way of greeting. He had returned from the town just over two weeks ago, leaving a small force of Patriot Militia in concealment to keep an eye on Tavington and to report back information on the Dragoons and Miss Lyra Mathan. It had been almost two weeks since they had heard anything, however.

"Not as yet," Benjamin said calmly.

Danvers paced up and down with growing impatience. He had been very hard to control lately, Claire's rape was consuming him.

"Claire won't eat, she won't drink. All she does is stare, she is like a wounded rabbit."

Benjamin said nothing, what could he say? The man's wife had been raped! The only thing he could do was listen. For now.

"I want him," Danvers spat. "I want him so bad I can taste it. Is there no other weakness we can exploit? The Mathan chit is no longer Tavington's whore, she is probably married to Joseph Simms by now! There must be something else!" the last came out as a hiss.

Benjamin drew a sharp breath, trying to quell his own rage at Tavington, trying to keep it under control. He could not let Danver's rage infect him also and when he could trust himself to speak, it was in a calm tone. "Nothing yet. But if he has another weakness, we'll find it. And we'll use it to crush him."

A little while later, a rider entered the clearing. _What a coincidence_, Martin thought, rising to greet the newcomer. The rebels surrounded the rider, all calling at once for news from Charles Town. The newcomer, Dan Scott, fixed his gaze on his leader, Colonel Benjamin Martin.

::::::::

"What a turn of events," Benjamin mused. "Her engagement to Simms cancelled! The second bann announcing her betrothal to Tavington announced? Christ."

"At least we know she is still his weakness," Danvers said with a dark smile. "We can go ahead with our plan to take her - but we'll need to move quickly, before they leave Charles Town."

"Shit, Danvers, we're too late for that!" Dan shook his head. "Weren't you listening? The Dragoons are leaving the Town tomorrow! The entire unit, all two hundred of them, followed closely by the infantry of the British Legion. Cornwallis, O'Hara - the entire lot of them, they've been organising their withdrawal for Fort Carolina for a week now, its why its been so damned hard to leave and get word to you."

Danvers glowered. "She's staying at her manor, you say? We could travel through the night, be there well before dawn, hit them while they are still in their blankets! There are only a score of guards surrounding her and -"

"No," Benjamin said firmly.

"But -"

"Danvers!" The Colonel snapped. "I want the bastard as much as you do! But we will not enter Charles Town!_ Fucking enter Charles Town? _What are thinking? How many men will die in the attempt to take his whore then? You need to get your head on straight, thats what. Take her from her manor in the middle of Charles Town!" He tossed his head in derision. "Christ if that had been possible we'd have taken her when she was still at her grandmother's mansion!"

Danvers subsided under Martin's hard glare. The Colonel's cold tone made it clear he would brook no further argument.

"We wait - whether you like it or not. She will be on the road tomorrow with at least one hundred and eighty Green Dragoons, plus the infantry of the British Legion. No, we will have to wait a while longer now, once they are settled into Wilkins plantation near the Fort, they will let their guard down eventually -"

"That could take months!" Danvers said hotly. "Months before they let their guard down!"

"Then we will wait months!" Martin bellowed. "We will continue as we have been," he went on in a milder tone. "We still have two of our boys in the Dragoons. We will strike when the time is right, even if it does take months. In the mean time, we'll go on as we have been - attacking their supply wagons, taking out their smaller camps, and keep up with the recruiting."

"Months," Danvers muttered, he knew better than to argue further however.

Benjamin glanced up when he heard hoofbeats approaching the camp, and a slow smile spread across his face. He rose quickly and went to embrace his son as he dismounted from his charger.

"Gabriel," his voice was fond. He nodded to the other men following Gabriel, clasped arms with some of them, slapped others on their back in greeting. There were more now, his son had been increasing his numbers by the day.

"Father, I've visited Pembroke -"

Benjamin gave Gabriel a knowing smile. "Again?"

"Yes, again!" He replied a little defensively. "Oliver was with me, and we managed to recruit a few more. Tavington has not endeared himself to some of the pacifists, and so they have taken up arms despite wanting peace."

Gabriel gestured toward a small group of young men, who were glancing around uncertainly.

"Very good, lad. We'll get their training started in the morning, but for now - dinner. And tell me, how is Miss Howard?"

"She's good father," Gabriel smiled, knowing his next words would please his father. "We're engaged."

"Excellent!" Benjamin bellowed, truly delighted. "A cause for celebration then my boy!"

Any cause for celebration was embraced whole heartedly by the Patriot men. It was not long before whiskey and champagne, pillaged from Cornwallis' supply trains, was handed around and the men began ribbing Gabriel, giving him lewd suggestions for his wedding night. Gabriel took it all stoically, and did not blush even once.

Benjamin watched it all with a small smile of contentment, as the men forgot their troubles, even Danvers seemed to forget his obsession for a few hours. The Ghost however, despite his smile and the genuine pleasure he felt over his son's engagement, never for once forgot his hatred or his need to take Tavington down. If it was to be months before he could make his move, then so be it.

As it happened, it was another eight months before fate was finally in his favor.

::::::::

In the months since leaving Charles Town for Captain Wilkins plantation, Lyra had received at least ten letters from Rebecca. She had replied to each one, for she could not bring herself to ignore her grandmother after seeing her genuine remorse. At first the letters were polite and Lyra wrote mainly of Joseph's escapades with the Green Dragoons. Rebecca always asked after news of Lyra however and eventually she relented and began writing more personal letters. What started out as an uneasy truce eventually turned into a much warmer relationship as bridges were mended. Rebecca had even made the trek to Wilkins plantation and stayed for several weeks before returning to Charles Town.

Of course, as the woman became more familiar and bold with Lyra, she made her feelings on her granddaughters sleeping arrangements known. It was not appropriate for a woman to share her chamber with a man not her husband, even if the man was her fiancé. She had said not another word on the subject however, her new relationship with Lyra was still a fragile thing by far.

Besides, the Green Dragoons were away more often than not. Sometimes only for the day, but usually for nights on end. Cornwallis had bunkered down at the nearby Fort Carolina, he was penned there as a result of Benjamin Martin's constant raids on British supply shipments, on Loyalist plantations, even on Loyalist towns.

Tavington was tasked with meeting the constant threat and capturing the Ghost but the Patriot militia leader had so far remained allusive, even after months of being on the Santee.

Wilkins plantation was not under threat, not with the score of Green Dragoons that formed Lyra's guard, as well as the constant presence of the British Legions infantry. Tavington left a large force at the plantation, which served as his base of operations. Wilkins' slaves still managed the crops but, for all intents and purposes, the plantation had become a place of military operations.

For the women however, it had become home.

In the early days, Mrs. Bordon spent a large portion of her time teaching Lyra the day to day running of property management, for Lyra and Tavington planned to eventually settle at her Green Haven in Raleigh. She needed to learn such things now that she owned her own properties and with Captain Wilkins permission the two women used his plantation as their principal. Mrs. Bordon had never run a plantation as such, but came to the realisation after only a few weeks that it was not far different to any property or farm in England. Together, the two women took over the management of the property from Wilkins ailing caretaker.

In the last few months Lyra had done the management herself, during Mrs. Bordon confinement. Margaret gave birth to a lovely little girl whom Captain Bordon named Lydia, and the little girl consumed all of her mother's time. Emily and Eleanor helped where Lyra directed them, but they spent most of their time following ladies pursuits such as needlework and reading. Emily had grown accustomed to Joseph as a soldier, though she still constantly feared her fiancé would be killed in the fighting. To her relief so far, Joseph had not been harmed.

Sally, a freedwoman now, had been employed formally as Lyra's maid. Being freed had not changed Sally's life in the slightest, except now she received a generous stipend from Lyra, one she suspected was far more than most maids received from their mistresses. Arcam had been freed also. But Sally had declared she could never leave Lyra, and so Arcam could not either. For he had quite fallen in love with Sally and wished to one day marry her. And so Arcam remained in Lyra's employ also.

As was their habit, Sally slept in Lyra's bed while Tavington was away. The Dragoons had been away for several nights on this, their latest scouting of the militia.

"When will they be back, do you think?"

"I don't know, Sally," Lyra sighed and snuggled into the blankets and into Sally for some more warmth. "It's getting so cold now."

"I know. I don't like it when Colonel Tavington is here, because then I have to sleep in my chamber and it is so much colder, sleeping alone."

"We'll have to get you married off then, won't we?" Lyra quipped.

"Hmm, married," Sally said wistfully. "I can do that now, can't I? Now I am a freedwoman."

"Indeed," Lyra smirked. "Not that you could not have done it before. I would have granted you permission to marry Arcam! Dear Lord, you make me sound a monster!"

"Well, you've been a very demanding mistress," Sally giggled.

"What rot. So, has he proposed?"

"Not yet. But I think he will soon."

"Will the two of you still stay with me though? Or will Arcam want to leave -"

"And go where? No, I am your maid, and you pay me far more generously than most maids are paid! And Arcam, he has nothing to complain about, being your butler or valet or what ever he is."

"My valet," Lyra laughed. "Only men have valets. Perhaps he could be William's when we marry."

"Which is when? Your betrothed is getting increasingly impatient." Sally fluffed her pillow, trying to get more comfortable.

"I know he is. It will happen. One day."

"One day... Mrs. Bryant is in a panic over it. What will she say when she learns you are pregnant?"

"Shh, not so loud!"

Sally laughed. "Lyra, we are alone in your bed, no one can hear us. When are you going to tell her?"

"Soon, I won't have much choice soon."

"She will have a fit. She is as bad as your Colonel, for wanting you to set a date as it is, but with you pregnant? I can see the froth foaming her lips now."

"Eww." Lyra wrinkled her nose and Sally laughed again.

"I won't begin showing for some time yet - I have months."

"Months... Oh well, if you insist on being all secretive about it... I am envious, I have my mensies, which is something you won't need to worry about for some time."

"Hmm," Lyra said, distractedly. "I wonder what Mrs. Bordon will say? She keeps it quiet, but I can tell she disapproves of William and I sleeping in here."

"She's too distracted with her new baby to worry overly much, but yes, she is afraid you will influence young Miss Robinson. Emily is growing bolder, did you know? She wants to bed Joseph."

"I do know," Lyra giggled. "Perhaps I should not have told her what she could expect on her wedding night. Every one else has been making her fear it, saying it will hurt and all. And then I come along and tell her how wondrous it all is! Now she's hardly fit company to live with, she's in a fever of excitement for Joseph."

"_She's_ hardly fit company? You're no better, with that child growing inside you. I swear you talk of little else but bedding."

"Only to you and Emily... But yes, I am not sure why, but... I need William all the time now. Oh, when is he going to return!"

"You could always take a lover," Sally giggled and Lyra shook her head emphatically.

"Dear Lord, he'd kill me!"

"Oh, I know, he has such a jealous streak. Now, I remembered something my Aunt told me once, a long long time ago. She said that sometimes, when a woman's humours are upset by being with child, that she may to couple more and more. That is obviously what is happening to you."

"Do you think it will hurt the babe?" Lyra asked, concerned.

"No, as long as he is not rough with you."

"He isn't," Lyra said wistfully. "He is perfect."

"Then marry him! And blow out the candle, I'm going to sleep."

Lyra blew out the candle, and the chamber fell dark.

:::::::::::

"Benjamin," Reverend Oliver said carefully. "You are not still thinking of... _hurting_ the lass, are you? I told you, she saved my life! If not for her intervention, Tavington would have finished me off. And after everything her stepfather put her through -"

"All irrelevant!" Danvers said hotly. "Look, perhaps if there was another way, another weakness, then we could leave Miss Mathan out of it. I knew her as a lass as well, I would not wish her harm. But there is not! Tavington has gotten away with rape, with blue bloody murder! What of my Claire? She was an innocent in all this as well, and yet she was raped - merely to draw our militiamen out, to force our hand!"

"We are speaking of Miss Mathan, though!" Gabriel protested. "She is so young, innocent, she has not hurt a fly! I know, Danvers, neither has Claire, but -"

"Two wrongs do not make a right!" Oliver agreed sternly.

"Miss Mathan was Anne's friend," Gabriel continued. "Anne even asked the girl to go and live with them in Pembroke, where it was safe. You are speaking of kidnapping - and _raping_ - a woman my wife considers a _friend_!"

"Son," Benjamin placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "I know this is not easy for you. And if Anne ever found out..." He shook his head, he had no desire to be on the end of one of Anne's tongue lashings. "But Miss Mathan is his only weakness! There is no other way, no other lure we could use to draw the Butcher out."

"She is such a frightened wee thing, though! You remember how she would cower if someone so much as looked at her!" Gabriel tried one last time to reason with his father. "Will you really _force_ her? You will hold her down, push her legs apart and..." He could not finish, it was too awful to think about.

"Just the same as Bordon did to your wife, Gabriel, before you were married," Danvers said firmly, ignoring Gabriel's sudden tension. "Tell me, how soon after you married her did her mensies stop? How do you know her babe is not that Redcoats -"

Gabriel surged to his feet, fury flared over his face, his father had to hold him back from pounding into Danvers.

"He attacked her happened almost nine months ago, Danvers!" Gabriel said hotly. "And she has had at least five bleedings since! She has missed her last three mensies, the child is mine!"

"Your wife," Danvers continued, ignoring Gabriel's rage - feeding it. "Another innocent, forced by a Redcoat, just like my Claire. Miss Mathan can help draw the Butcher to us, and I say the sooner the better. We've waited too long as it is! Besides, boy. She is not such a meek and mild thing anymore! Were you not listening to Scott?"

"Yeah," Dan Scott said as Gabriel sat back down, stiff and angry. "She rules the roost at Wilkins' plantation. And the arguments she has with Tavington, our boys have reported hearing them shouting at each other when they're fighting. Gabriel - your father won't be hurting some weak little virgin. She's strong now, and has shown her temper. She is the Butcher's whore - no longer a virgin."

Gabriel sighed and Oliver shook his head. He met Curly's eyes, then Skunks, and they all deflated, resigned. Oliver, Curly and Skunk seemed to the only ones, besides himself, willing to speak up for Lyra Mathan.

"Yes, Son. She is changed - she is not the same girl she was, and she is the key. I am sorry, but we are taking her, and that is final."

"Very well father. What is your plan?"

"We will need to keep a small force concealed just outside the boundaries of Wilkins property. Miss Mathan does not stay in the house at all times, she ventures about the property, we just need to coax her to come a little bit further out, then we will be able to take her. We need to wait a little longer, for Tavington has been speaking of sending half his force to Rawdon, who is requesting relief from the British Legion. Once they are gone, the place will be far less secure."

"Benjamin," Oliver began, trying one last time. Benjamin, however, had heard enough. He surged to his feet and glared balefully at Oliver, who fell silent instantly.

"My son is dead. My brother is dead. And if that was not enough," he paused, pinning Oliver with a glare. "Charlotte is pregnant with the Butcher's bastard." Oliver's eyes widened with shock and horror. Benjamin nodded curtly, "yes, Reverend. I've managed to keep it quiet, but the Butcher got his wish, he got a child on my woman. A boy, he said. To replace the one he shot. A boy to replace Thomas."

"Dear Lord, did he say that?" Oliver whispered.

"Indeed, and the bastard will be born any day now. I will not marry Charlotte. But I _will_ have my revenge."


	43. Chapter 43 - The Light of Madness

**_A/N - sorry for the delay in writing this chapter, had my daughter's birthday party to organise this weekend and my husband has man flu. _**

**_Lisette - Thanks for your review, I'm glad you liked the chapter. Though I never said it in the previous chapter, Tavington does know about the pregnancy. At this stage only Lyra, Tavington and Sally know. :-) _**

**_Smiley guest - yes, very spooky! LOL! No, don't side with Benjamin, not in this story! :-)_**

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**Chapter 43 - The Light of Madness**

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the Reverend declared and the troops attending Joseph's wedding hollered and whooped. Emily's face glowed as she gazed up at Joseph, her husband at long last. The celebration would go well into the night, but Emily planned to slip away with her new husband at the first opportunity. With a shiver of nerves and excitement, she sent silent thanks to Lyra for her candid advice. So many older women had told Emily frightening stories of what her wedding night would be like. How horrible it all was, and painful. That she must do her duty by her husband no matter how distasteful.

Emily had been terrified, but seeing Lyra with Colonel Tavington had made her thoughtful and with trepidation, she asked Lyra what it was truly like.

What a different story Lyra had given her! The two girls had giggled and laughed as Lyra described, in detail, how magnificent it was and Emily had been in a fever of excitement ever since. She longed to feel the tensions that Lyra described, the pleasure and then that floating feeling. It sounded like absolute bliss.

Joseph gazed down at his wife, his thoughts not much different to hers. Yes, he would sidle away with her shortly and the two would consummate their marriage. He would put all of the brothers James and Richard Wilkins' advice to good use. The two men maintained there was an art to pleasuring a woman and they had gone into great detail indeed. Richard had told Joseph that if he wished to please Emily then he must take his time. James' advice had been far more coarse. He had suggested they visit a few doxies - for practice made perfect. Joseph had laughed, but had been too scandalized to take James up on the offer.

The celebrations began almost immediately. Wilkins opened his cellars to the Officers and there was a fine spread of food. Mrs. Bryant and Mrs. Bordon had been busy all week directing and organizing the wedding preparations, for which both Joseph and Emily would be eternally grateful.

:::

"That was such a lovely wedding," Lyra said unwisely, as she sat back on the lovers seat on the front verandah. She snuggled into little Lydia, who had been asleep in her arms through out the entire ceremony. Which was a good thing, for Bordon's daughter had a very loud cry and she did not want the girl to disturb Joseph and Emily's wedding.

The couple had decided they could wait no longer, and had abruptly announced they would _not_ be returning to Charles Town to marry. Margaret and Eleanor had been in quite a state for the past week busy organising the wedding. And Lyra had taken over caring for Margaret's little baby daughter, while her mother was occupied.

"Quite," William said shortly. "It makes one wonder when there will be another 'lovely' wedding, Lyra."

"William..." Lyra sighed heavily. "You agreed to a long engagement -"

"You made me agree to it! And it _has_ been long! We left Charles Town eight months ago - how much longer do you need? Aren't you happy?"

"I am happy. Its lovely here, with you but -"

"But you still don't trust me not to hurt you! When was the last time I did, hmm?"

"Months ago..." Lyra answered softly.

Even with all the pressures of his Office, with the constant attacks from the rebel militia and William's inability to catch the Ghost. With all the wounds he had taken over the months and the skirmishes, the constant raids. The exhaustion, the tedium of being in the saddle for eighteen hours a day traveling the length and the breadth of the Santee. Even with all that, not once had he taken his anger and frustrations out on Lyra.

He returned to her - near to collapse some evenings and he fell into her arms seeking solace, not an outlet for his rage.

And she gave him that solace, unconditionally, though she had heard the rumours of what the Green Dragoons were doing along the Santee. None of the rumours came as a surprise to her, for she had seen his ruthlessness first hand. She had witnessed the farms burned, the people killed, the women raped. She knew it happened, but she knew _him_, as well.

The only time he became wroth with her was at times like these, when his impatience to marry got the better of him.

"Months ago. Not since the ball. That's how long ago. Darling, you will start to show soon and everyone will learn you are with child. It would be better to marry before they learn of it!"

"Honey, some women marry when their bellies are out here -" she made a motion with her hand. "And are about to deliver!"

"I think I'll tell Mrs. Bryant about the baby and Mrs. Bordon as well. As soon as they discover this they will not let the subject rest!"

"They don't now!" Lyra laughed. "If they'd had their way, there would have been a double wedding today."

"Yes, if _I'd_ had my way there _certainly_ would have been a double wedding today!" Tavington muttered. He let the subject drop however. Lyra would start showing soon and he had no doubt her companions would convince her it was time to wed, putting an end to all this foolish waiting.

:::::::::

Like a thief in the night, Curly made his way through the sleeping Dragoons in their tents, passing the second lot of sentries with ease. He glanced down at his bundle and his heart swelled with grief. At least the boy was sleeping soundly now his belly was full. It had been no small feat, finding a woman who happened to be nursing and willing to feed someone else's babe at such a late hour. But Curly had succeeded and as soon as the lad was sleeping soundly, he had stolen away from the nearby town. He had headed directly for Wilkins plantation at the dead of night.

He could still hear Mrs. Charlotte's Selton's cries of pain as she laboured, finally giving birth to her baby. She had been exhausted, her face was streaked with tears and her forehead slick with sweat. The midwife had taken hold of the baby, and handed him to Benjamin Martin. Martin had stared down at Tavington's bastard coldly, and Curly had felt a flash of foreboding deep in his bones. Mrs. Selton must have felt it too, for she had held out her arms and asked in a shaky voice for Benjamin to hand her the baby.

"Ben?" She had asked. Martin ignored her, did not take his eyes off the babe. "Ben... Please..."

Still he ignored her, and she tried to sit up. Not a comfortable thing to do, as Curly knew from his own wife's birthing. Her afterbirth would be coming soon, Charlotte could not move from the bed. Not yet. "Ben," she tried again, her voice edging panic now. "My baby, please, give me my baby."

Benjamin finally looked up at her, and Curly had shuddered to see the light of madness in his eyes.

"Not your baby, Charlotte. _His_ bastard." Benjamin's voice had been chill, and implacable.

"Ben," desperately now. "_Please!_ Tavington does not even know the baby exists! Please, give him to me. Give me my baby!"

But Benjamin did not. Without another word, he nodded to Curly and left the room. Curly cast one last look at the grieving mother, now shrieking for her baby, and trying to rise from the bed. The baby began to cry, such a little thing he was, too little to be taken from his mother. Her son's cries drove Charlotte near to madness and she screamed, screamed for Ben to return, not to hurt her son. _Her_ son - _not_ the Butchers!

Curly quite agreed, Tavington would not be hurt - not by this. Benjamin could kill this baby and the Butcher would be none the wiser.

"Ben," Curly said, catching up to the Colonel. "I vow - if you hurt this child, I will leave. I will return to my family, and never speak to you again. You go to far - this child is helpless! It is not his fault who sired him!"

Benjamin turned to him, the light of madness replaced with surprise. "Hurt him?" he asked, genuinely startled. "No, Curly. I am not going to hurt him. But nor will I suffer his presence. He is to be taken to his father, this very night. _You_ will take him, Curly."

"Me? What the hell do I do, just walk up and knock on the door? Ask for the Butcher, have a cup of tea with him? Then tell him, 'oh, and by the way, here's your son, born only this very evening.' Christ, Ben!"

"No, you will make your way through the lines of guards and sleeping Dragoons, to leave the bastard on Wilkins doorstep. That will show them how easily we can make it through their lines, drive a little fear into the guts."

"What about feeding him! Look at him - listen! He's hungry! He needs his Mamma!"

"You know as well as I," Benjamin scoffed. "That a woman's milk takes days to come in. Find a wet-nurse. Once he is at the plantation - Bordon's wife will nurse him, I'm sure. She has a baby of her own now, remember? You will do this Curly. Or I will have Danvers do it."

"No!" Curly all but shouted. "Danvers will probably leave the kid in a ditch somewhere, or snap his neck! He's gone insane, he is mad! No, if this must be done, then I will do it."

He reluctantly took the baby boy from the Colonel's arms, and waited while Benjamin ducked away, returning shortly later with a note to be delivered with the boy. In that time, Curly had tied the boys umbilical cord, swaddled him, wrapped him in blankets.

"Here," Ben said curtly, handing Curly the note.

With a one last look of disgust, which Benjamin affected not to notice, Curly mounted his horse and rode away.

::::

"Don't worry, little one," Curly said as he laid the boy on the verandah, under shelter of the awning above. "Your Papa might be a right bastard, but I'm certain you'll be well looked after. He's in love with the right woman, at least - Miss Lyra will care for you, I'm certain. And you come from good stock on your other side, Mrs. Selton - your Mamma, a right good woman she is. Don't follow in your Papa's footsteps, will you now? Be a good boy, and an even better man."

Curly felt a little silly, whispering his advice to this tiny little babe - only hours old now. He tried to shut out Charlotte's screams from his mind as he closed the blankets around her baby boy.

_He'll begin to cry soon._ Curly knew from his own babies, that the little one will need frequent feeding. _He'll wake the house, and Mrs. Bordon will feed him. And then Miss Mathan will care for him, I'm certain. _He placed Benjamin's note to Tavington within the folds of the blanket. He turned to leave, but fear that someone might trod on the baby made him stop.

"I'll just put you a little closer here, out of the walkway," he murmured as he moved the boy a little further from the door, further from harms way. One last look, then he slipped down the verandah steps and sidled back through the lines, away from the British camp.

:::::::

"Christ, how can you be so insatiable, Lyra!" Tavington gasped as he stroked inside his beautiful, pregnant fiancé. Ever since the baby was conceived, Lyra had had a hunger that Tavington had found difficult to assuage. "You will have to seek out other men soon, I can not keep up with you."

"Oh..." Lyra lay beneath him, panting and bucking wildly. "Oh..." She barely heard the words he whispered in her ear as he pounded into her, as hard as he dared. She wanted it harder, always harder. Needed to feel him slam into her but he refused to indulge her too far, in case he hurt his babe. "So close... Oh, William..."

She arched her back and a long, low moan escaped her. Sweat beaded her brow as she yearned for that sweet release. He surged above her, kissing her neck, her shoulders, his lips finding hers, their tongues dueling until finally Lyra cried out and dug her fingers into his sweat slick back, her climax coursing through her.

Tavington was not far behind, two - three more strokes and he was done, his hips snapping back and forth, he grunted above her then held still and sobbed a gasp as he came. Several glorious moments later and he collapsed beside her, to stroke her belly, wondering at the new life forming within.

"Christ, Lyra. Did you even hear what I said?" He could barely form the words, he had still not caught his breath.

"No," Lyra panted, turning her head to his with a beatific smile of completion.

False, all false. He knew she would have need of him again, in a few more hours she would be mounting him, demanding more. Thirty-five years old and _never_ had he felt so old.

"I said, my sweet angel, that I can not keep up with you now. You will need to seek out other men soon."

She began to laugh, a sweet chime, as she turned over and curled against him. "It's not me, its the babe. All my humours are upset and I can't help it! I just need you..."

"No, you don't need me," he said, then glanced lewdly at his slick semi erect cock. "That is what you need."

"Only from you, though, honey," she stroked his face tenderly. They kissed tenderly for several minutes longer, before Lyra drew back with a sigh. "I wonder what Emily and Joseph are doing now?" She giggled.

"Oh, I think we can guess," Tavington smirked. "I was shocked, I must admit, when Mrs. Simms dragged her new husband away. The celebrations had only just begun!"

"No they hadn't! The celebration had been going for a good two hours before Emily made her move!" Lyra laughed. "I hope she's as satisfied as I am. I'm certain she will give me all the details tomorrow."

"Lyra!" William was scandalised. "That is private! You don't tell her all of our 'details', do you?"

"Why do you think she dragged him off as she did?" Lyra giggled again.

"Lyra!" Even more scandalised now. Then he became thoughtful, his eyes bright and lusty. "You'll tell me everything she tells you, won't you?"

Lyra laughed aloud.

A baby began to cry.

"Christ," Tavington muttered. "I thought Mrs. Bordon just got the girl to sleep! If this is what its going to be like, up all hours of the night, then I'm not so certain about having a babe after all."

Lyra smirked at him. "Too late, honey. He, or she, can't be sent back! Have you noticed that my belly has a slight swell to it now? Look," she placed his hand on her flat stomach.

"No, darling, not yet," he smiled, not drawing his hand away. "You are not showing yet, I'm afraid. When do you think we'll be able to feel him in there?"

"Or her," she corrected with a pout. "Sally says when I'm about six months, maybe a bit more, then you'll be able to feel her too."

"Hmm, another four months to go."

"Another seven until we have her - and then we'll have..." Lyra cocked her ear, listening as the babies cries grew louder. "That to contend with!"

Tavington smiled. "It is unlike her to leave the baby crying so long. She normally settles her right away."

"Perhaps she is tired. I'll go to her, see if she wants help," she began to rise from the bed. "Lydia can't be hungry, perhaps I'll walk around with her for a little while."

"That is what Captain Bordon is for," Tavington growled, reaching for her to drag her back down.

But the baby was louder now, and Lyra shook Tavington off her and rose from the bed. She pulled on her nightrobe and slipped from the room. Once in the hallway, she paused with a puzzled expression.

"William, honey - the sound isn't coming from the Bordon's room. Come with me, please?" She said uncertainly, holding her candle up to light the bed. William sighed and climbed out of bed, donning his banyan.

The two made their way through the manor, down the stairs, through the foyer, all the while the babies crying becoming louder as they drew closer. They both stopped at the front door, sharing a look of astonishment, for the cries were coming from just outside.

"Oh, my God," Lyra shot a fearful glance at Tavington, who opened the front door apprehensively. He ducked through first, checking for danger, and Lyra came out a little more hesitantly after him. The screaming was so loud, the two could barely hear each other over the racket. Lyra saw the bundle first and with a sobbing gasp she ran forward and scooped the blanket wrapped baby up in her arms. Her soothing comforted the baby somewhat, his cries becoming less as she whispered to him.

"Who would do this?" She gasped at William, who held the candle aloft to gaze down at the baby. "Who - to leave the baby on the front door stoop! Oh, my Lord!"

Tears sprang in her eyes, her emotions shifted wildly these days, with the baby growing inside her. It surprised Tavington that the others in the house had not guessed Lyra's condition, based on her moods alone.

The baby in her arms opened its eyes, and Lyra gasped, seeing a dark but bright purple. "He mustn't be more than a few hours old," she said through her tears. "Who?" She pushed the blankets aside to inspect the baby and a note slipped from between the folds.

Tavington picked it up and read it quickly. It was a short note, short but devastating. He glanced up at Lyra, the woman he wished to marry, then glanced down at his son, the child he had sired on Charlotte. Never before had he regretted his actions more. His son, his bastard. Lyra cocked an eyebrow, waiting for him to read the note, but fear that she would not marry him now seized his tongue.

"William!" Demanding now. Christ her moods were as quick as lightening.

He sighed heavily, and began to read.

_Butcher_

_I hope you've remembered my promise. I'll be taking Lyra soon, she will be filled with my bastard, as you filled Charlotte with yours. _

_I am returning your gift, I have no need for him. No bastard of yours could ever replace my son, the boy you killed. But a son between myself and your whore... Now that would be a fine thing indeed. Don't worry, I'll make her enjoy it._

_Keep her warm for me, Butcher. _

_Colonel Martin._

"Oh. My. God," Lyra said slowly, her eyes wide with outrage, anger, fury. Ignoring the threat from Martin, she spat, "_your_ son!" She glanced down at the bundle in her arms, and tears sprang to her eyes once more. The boy began to fidget and fuss, his cries growing louder, his mouth searching. Her eyes softened and voice was a whisper, "Your son, William. He is hungry and I can not feed him!"

"Christ, Lyra," Tavington muttered. "I don't know what to -"

"Mrs. Bordon," Lyra interrupted firmly. "Quickly, William, you go ahead of me, wake her up."

::::


	44. Chapter 44 - The Bastard

**Chapter 43 - The Bastard**

"Oh no," Margaret murmured sleepily. She groaned inarticulately and rolled over, seeking her husband's warm body. Without waking, Stephen opened his arms and drew his wife close. The baby was still crying and Margaret sighed heavily, shuffling even closer to Bordon.

It was not that she regretted her unconventional decision to nurse her own baby, rather than hire a wet nurse. Not entirely. It was just that she had never given a thought to how demanding a baby would be. Lydia fed every three hours and Margaret missed not having a full nights sleep.

She blamed Captain Covington's wife. Mrs. Jane Covington, who Margaret had spent many a long hour with on the voyage from England to the Colonies some four years ago. Jane had been an unconventional sort of Lady, Margaret had called her 'eccentric' on many occasions. And Jane had nursed her own baby. She had explained all of the merits of such a choice to Margaret, and the younger woman had been quite taken with the idea.

When she gave birth to Lydia, Margaret chose to nurse her child herself, though she knew her own mother would be utterly scandalised.

She did not regret it. Not always. Except now, when she was wrapped so warmly and securely in her husband's embrace. He was gone from her so often, sometimes not returning for several nights at a time. To be able to sleep in his arms for an entire night - uninterrupted, would be bliss.

And she had only fed Lydia an hour ago! Perhaps she had a touch of colic. With a heavy sigh, Margaret lifted her head from her husband's chest, ready to rise. But then - the crying stopped! With a small smile of relief, Margaret snuggled against Captain Bordon again.

Another thought occurred to her, another benefit of feeding her baby herself. There were three other Ladies in the house and only one baby. Margaret appreciated their help and loved that her companions seemed to adore Lydia as much as she herself did. However, between Lyra, Emily and Eleanor, Margaret barely got a look in! It seemed to Margaret that the only time she was able to spend with her baby was when she was feeding her!

When she felt certain Lydia was, indeed, settled, she closed her eyes and began to doze.

The crying began again, quietly at first but getting louder by the moment, waking even Bordon. Margaret pushed the covers from her and rose, walking sleepily over to the bassinet. She was about to reach in and pick up Lydia when she finally realised - her daughter was sleeping quite soundly.

Like a baby.

Sloughing off the vestiges of sleep, she turned and glanced over at her husband, puzzled.

"There are no other babies here," she said. Bordon heard the question in her tone. He rose, naked, from the bed and donned his banyan. Margaret wrapped her night robe around her, over her shift. The two left the room, shutting their bedchamber door quietly behind them.

They were almost to the stairs when they were met with a very startling sight indeed.

"Mrs. Bordon!" Lyra was racing up the stairs carrying a screaming baby wrapped in a bundle of blankets. "He's hungry - oh, please - won't you feed him?"

:::

The baby was quiet now that his belly was full. He had been given his first bath, the blood and muck of birth was washed away. His swaddling had been changed and he was dressed warmly in some of Lydia's borrowed baby dresses.

Lyra held him against his chest, rubbing his back gently, encouraging his wind to come up.

Margaret and Captain Bordon sat across from her and Tavington stood at the window with his back to them.

"Ah, there, good boy," Lyra murmured, the baby had bought up some wind. "Lord, Mrs. Bordon. I don't know what we would have done without you."

"Well, we could not let the poor dear go hungry," Mrs. Bordon replied. "Though I must say you will need to find a wet nurse. I won't be able to feed both of them -"

"Oh, I know. I just hope there is a woman in the village who not only happens to be feeding, but is willing to come and stay here," Lyra began rocking back and forth, jiggling the baby to help relax him for sleep. "Thank goodness Lydia came along first, I would not have known what to do with a baby, otherwise."

The men remained quiet during the women's exchange.

"He seems happy enough now. I had not realised how much Lydia had grown in the last month. Not until I held this wee one. How small they are when they are first born!"

"I know, I thought the same." Lyra tilted her head back to gaze down at the babies face. His eyes were drooping now, almost asleep. "I can't help but feel for Mrs. Selton -"

"How the Devil did a rebel get through our lines?" Tavington whirled suddenly, cutting Lyra off, his face like thunder. "What of our sentries? He made it, all the way through the outskirts of camp, through the camp itself, right up to the house!"

"Yes, I was wondering the same," Captain Bordon replied in a grave tone. "It presents some very serious concerns."

"It certainly does. I want a full investigation, Bordon," his tone took on an ominous edge. "Check to ensure the sentries were not drinking or _sleeping_."

Lyra shared a concerned glance with Margaret. The last soldier found sleeping on guard duty had been flogged by Tavington himself. Even in the far side of the manor, the women had still heard the man screaming as he was struck over and over again.

A knock on the parlor door, brother's Michael and Arthur Middleton, and Lieutenant's Wilkins and Wentworth had arrived. Despite the late hour, the four Dragoon's of Lyra's guard were immaculately dressed in their uniforms. They saluted Tavington, and the Colonel waved them down.

"You have heard what has occurred?" Tavington snapped without preamble.

"Yes, Sir," the men answered in unison.

"Not only has a rebel made it through our ranks, but Martin himself has left a threatening letter. He has made his intentions clear - he will make an attempt to capture Miss Mathan. This - will - not - happen." He pinned each of Lyra's guard with a hard stare.

"No, Sir!" They answered in unison once again.

"I want her guard doubled. Bordon and I will ensure that no rebel is able to make it so close to the house again, for the safety of everyone, not just Lyra. As the senior Officer's in her guard, your task is to care for Lyra herself, all four of you. I want one of _you_ four with Lyra at all times, along with the men you choose to guard her."

"Yes, Sir!"

"See to it," the Colonel snapped coldly. "Dismissed."

The men saluted again and left quietly. If one of them was to guard Lyra at all times, they would need to set up a schedule of rotation between the four of them. They also needed to discuss who they could trust to add to Lyra's guard.

Even now, an hour or so after the babies arrival, Tavington had still not held his son. He had barely even _looked_ at the boy. Lyra glanced down at the babies' little face and felt pity well inside her. Such a helpless little thing, what if William did not accept him?

Lyra's gaze fell on Bordon, but his face was a carefully composed mask and she could not discern his thoughts or feelings. His wife, Margaret, however... She met Margaret's gaze again and saw disapproval in the other woman's eyes.

Lyra understood completely. She had seen the disgust in Margaret's eyes when her gaze happened to fall on Tavington. The Colonel's relations with Charlotte were well known through the camp, and now the product of that union was being held in Lyra's arms.

A bastard, born of rape.

Tavington still maintained he did not rape Mrs. Selton, even after all this time, but Lyra disagreed. Charlotte would not have bedded him if she had not thought her niece was in danger. He had coerced her and now he had a natural child to deal with.

No, _they_ had a natural child to deal with. Lyra was his fiancé, after all. His troubles were hers. She gazed down at the baby again and decided that, no matter what Tavington wanted, she would care for this child - her fiancé's bastard.

She was a bastard herself, after all.

"If you have no further need of me, Miss Mathan, I believe I will retire," Margaret said as she rose from the chaise. "I will be lucky to get half an hours sleep before Lydia wakes for her feed and then when this little one wakes he will need feeding again. Dear Lord, I will probably be feeding every hour and a half! I hope I have enough milk for them both."

"So do I. Mrs. Bordon you have our gratitude, mine and William's both. Rest assured, I will do what I can to have you relieved of this burden as soon as I can. I just hope I don't have to send to Charles Town for a wet nurse."

Margaret shuddered. "So do I! That would take days! Oh, well, it can not be helped."

She wished them a good night and Bordon escorted her to their chamber before beginning his investigation despite the late hour.

::::::::::::::::::::

Lyra and Tavington retired to their chamber. The baby was sound asleep and Lyra, having no where else to put him, laid him in the bed and climbed in alongside him. She nestled him against her body to share her warmth.

By contrast, Tavington lay on his back on the other side of the bed, as far from the baby as he could be without falling over the edge.

"Dear Lord," Lyra murmured. "Mrs. Bordon is going to be run ragged, feeding both Lydia and your son."

"Christ, I can't believe this is happening," William growled and tightened his lips.

"I can," Lyra snapped, holding his gaze firmly. "William, it was horrid, what you did, and now its coming back to haunt you."

"Yes, it certainly is. And the rebels - being able to get so far into our camp. He could have simply strolled right into the house!" He waved his arm in the air with irritation. "Just walk on in."

"I am less concerned with a rebel murdering me in my blankets than I am for the future of this baby, William," Lyra said firmly.

"Well, you need not concern yourself there. He will not be a burden to Mrs. Bordon and he will not be a burden to you and I. There is an orphanage not far -"

"Colonel - William - Tavington!" Lyra hissed, her green eyes flashing fury. "You will not dare! This is your child, he has already been taken from his mother - he will not be denied his father! I will not allow it!"

"Lyra!" Tavington sat up, his face firm and set. "We will not keep this baby -"

"Yes, we shall! You listen to me, _very_ carefully! I am carrying your baby, this babies brother or sister!" She pointed to the baby laying beside her. "This child is of your blood! How can I be certain you will love the children I bear you if you are so willing to ignore this one?"

"_You_ did not bear him -"

She cut him off.

"You sired him! You will not send him away! I will not allow it William, do you hear? He will know you, he will be yours, or I will leave you, this very night!"

"You'll leave me?" He said incredulously. "This child is a bastard! He's a -"

"I'm a bastard too, if you recall correctly! The babe growing within me is a bastard also!"

"Because you won't marry me! We could make him legitimate easily enough!"

"No! You are proving to me the caliber of man you are! Rejecting your own child!" Lyra sat abruptly and picked the sleeping baby up. "Hold him!"

Tavington raised his arms to fend her off but Lyra pushed the baby against his chest and Tavington had no choice.

"You will hold him, William," she threatened harshly. "You will accept him, or you will not have _any_ of us!"

William, tense and stiff, his lips tight with fury, held the baby in his rigid arms.

"You can not accept the child growing inside me, born of your seed, and not accept this one! How could you? Look at him! _Your_ son!"

Lyra continued to rant, furious and disgusted. With a heavy sigh, Tavington gazed down at his son.

"Touch him!" Lyra ordered. "His hair, see how soft?"

Tavington drew a sharp breath but obeyed. He stroked the thick, dark shock of hair and found it was indeed incredibly soft. The boy was clean now, after his bath. All of the moving around and Lyra's hissing had woken him, his purple eyes now gazed unfocused up into his father's pale blue. His little arms and legs moved involuntarily. His eyes opened and shut, he swallowed and made little breathy sighs. Tavington assumed a more comfortable position and stroked his son's face gently. The boy turned his face into the touch and frowned, seemingly perplexed by this new and enjoyable sensation.

Lyra fell silent, but Tavington barely noticed, quickly becoming enthralled with the little boy in his arms. His son.

"He can't have my name," William said softly, accepting that Lyra had won yet another battle. "I draw the line there, Lyra."

"Tavington - Selton, perhaps?" Lyra asked, her voice just as soft.

"No, just Selton." William said firmly.

"Everyone will know he is yours, William." Lyra pointed out.

"That is not the point. _Your_ baby will have my name. When you give me a son, he will be William Tavington."

"Very well. Then what of this one, what will you name him?"

William sighed heavily. "Edward," he replied. "I will name him for my Uncle, Captain Edward Tavington. This boy will most likely join the military when he is a man grown, there will not be many other occupations suitable for a natural child."

'Natural child', not 'bastard'. Lyra smiled, feeling heartened.

"Perhaps having his Uncle's name will stand him in good stead," he continued.

"A good omen, I like that," she said quietly and took the boy from his father's arms. "Will you put some blankets on the floor for him to sleep on? Mrs. Bordon fears one of us will roll onto the baby in our sleep."

Tavington laid out some soft blankets on the floor right by the bed.

"I suppose we will need a bassinet," he said while he worked.

"Yes," she agreed. "William, keeping this baby is the right thing to do. You can not spurn your children, not a single one of them."

"Very well," he said.

He took Edward from Lyra's arms and laid him on the blankets.

_You have no idea how grateful you should be, boy,_ he thought as he stroked his son's hair once more. _You've no idea how close you were to being sent to an orphanage. You better treat your mother with utmost respect, boy, for you remain with us only because I have no wish to lose _**_her_**_, now or ever. _

'Your mother'... William was thinking of Lyra, not of Charlotte, when he said those words.

He climbed back into bed with his fiancé and pulled her into his arms, but his thoughts were still on his son. Perhaps he will tell the boy just how grateful he should be to Lyra, one day. When he was older, much older. When he became a soldier. William would teach him to fight, beginning with wooden swords as a child, he would begin teaching Edward the forms.

Tavington fell asleep with thoughts of what else he would teach to his son.

::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N - Sorry for the insensitive chapter title :-)_

_Natural child - a polite term for bastard._

_Lisette - sorry for taking it in a different direction - having Tavington reject the boy and Lyra defend him. :-) _

_Still, I think it works. It seemed more natural this way. She is a bastard herself and I don't think she would be all 'hoighty-toighty' over having to raise a bastard. The fact the boy was conceived in the first place was enough to piss her off, but now he is with them I do not believe she would reject him. I think that if Tavington had sent him off, Lyra would have left him. I know what you mean though, making him sweat and beg for marriage! LOL! I know I haven't covered it in detail, but he has waited a good eight months already... _

_:-)_

_Smiley Guest - I'm so glad you are finding it intense! But wait, there's more to come! A few more wee intense moments are on their way! :-)_


	45. Chapter 45 - Bordon's Dilemma

**Chapter 44 - Bordon's Dilema**

The following morning just before breakfast, the manor's occupants met in James Wilkins large parlor. The women now had two babies to dote over. Though they were all aware that little Edward was Tavington's by blow, none of them said a word of it. Which was quite tactful of them, really.

Captain Bordon sat beside his exhausted wife, the poor dear had been up and down tending to both their _own_ child _and_ to Tavington's bastard. She said not a word of disapproval in the Colonel's hearing, but alone in their bedchamber had been another story. As they laid in bed, Bordon had been forced to tell his wife the sordid details of Tavington's dubious seduction of Charlotte Selton. Margaret had known some of it, but not all.

"How could he do such a thing?" She had asked him, clearly distressed and very disgusted. "To make her believe her niece was in danger? Exhorting favors from her? Despicable, I had truly thought better of him."

"My darling, it is not so simple as that," Bordon tried to explain, defending Tavington's actions. "It was not purely for the Colonel's enjoyment as such. We are at war and sometimes... unsavory... weapons must be used."

"Rape, you mean?" She snapped, hearing the meaning behind his words at once. "The rape of innocent women? How does such a thing win a war, I wonder?"

"It causes terror and if the local populace are terrified, then they will not rise against us. They will not impede us - in fact most of the time, they help us. With our investigations, they tell us what we need to know. Amongst other things..." Bordon would not tell his wife everything of course, only enough to defend Tavington. He would not tell her exactly what atrocities were committed to bring the populace to heel - tactics he himself had employed. It was Dragoon business, after all, and she was merely a woman. Still, she was his wife and he did love her dearly.

"I certainly hope you do not employ those tactics!"

Bordon gave a start and stared at his wife wide eyed. Margaret was more astute than he gave her credit for sometimes and had almost read his thoughts.

"I do what I have to, Margaret," he said firmly. "I do what I am commanded. Anything else would be insubordination. We must bring the Colonists to their knees or we will be fighting this war forever."

"That is not very reassuring, Stephen," Margaret had whispered, her eyes teared, she would be weeping soon.

Bordon sighed heavily and reminded himself that his wife was very tired and drained. She now had two burdens to care for, one of them not even her own.

"Margaret," he said gently. "You are asking me to speak of Green Dragoon business and that is something I will not do. You can be rest assured however, that despite Tavington's actions at Mrs. Selton's plantation, he does fight a Gentleman's war. I would not serve under him, otherwise. He does not allow rape," Bordon spoke the lie without hesitation, plowing on unrepentant. "He does not hurt small children," another lie. "What happened at Mrs. Selton's plantation was a product of pure frustration over not being able to catch the Ghost himself." An evasion, they had known the Ghost would not be there, they had visited the plantation purely to gain hostages. "And here was the Ghost's lover, his fiancé, Mrs. Selton. Tavington acted without hesitation and perhaps without thought."

"And now he is paying the price," she whispered. "Stephen, he truly doesn't allow rape? I've heard some things -"

"You will not listen to gossip!" Bordon had snapped. Margaret lowered her eyes and Bordon sighed heavily, gathering his tired and distraught wife into his arms. "He does not allow rape," he lied again.

"And you have never... Been tempted..."

"Margaret," the Captain's tone took on a dangerous edge and his wife fell silent. She had no right to be asking these things! Still, he understood her concerns... It could not hurt to reassure her. Cutting straight to the heart of her fear, he lied, "I have not, Margaret. I've been faithful to you. There will be no by-blow left on our doorstep."

"Thank the dear Lord, Stephen. For I could not bear the shame," Margaret had sighed heavily and closed her eyes. She was so exhausted, even then, that she fell asleep quickly. Bordon had lain awake for sometime, however. His wife would not be able to bear the shame... His thoughts dwelled on his own indiscretion, with Miss Anne Howard. If his ravaging of her had conceived a child, then there might very well be a bastard left on the doorway after all.

Deciding to make a discrete investigation, Bordon eventually fell asleep with his wife in his arms.

:::

Now he gazed across to his own daughter, Lydia. At nearly a month old, the baby had begun to smile and the women did everything they could to entertain her, for they delighted in those smiles. Emily held Lydia at that moment and was pulling funny faces without the slightest embarrassment. Joseph sat by her side, Tavington sat by Lyra's. Surprisingly, the Colonel held his son in his arms - Bordon had not thought the man would accept the boy.

"What a night!" Margaret exclaimed. "Dear Lord, I am run ragged already. And so very hungry!" She drooped listlessly into a chaise lounger, exhausted after her long night of nursing two babies with only a few snatches of sleep in between.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Bordon," Lyra apologised profusely. "William says we will be able to visit Kingston today, to begin our search for a suitable and willing nurse maid. We will leave shortly after breakfast."

"Oh, that would be wonderful if you could find someone right away. I will feed these two again and then go to bed, I think." Margaret yawned. "After breakfast, of course."

"Miss Mathan, I believe I will accompany you," Bordon said. This could be just the thing. Surely word of Anne Howard would have reached Kingston, the township close to the Fort, by now. He would begin by asking at the mercantile there. The Howard's ran their own mercantile at Pembroke, and it stood to reason that the two businesses would deal frequently with one another. "I wish to visit the store and -"

"Oh, some lace please!" Margaret said at once. "For my cap. Miss Mathan will know exactly what I am after."

"Of course, darling," Bordon smiled.

And so it was settled, and shortly after breakfast Colonel Tavington, Lyra, Bordon and Lyra's guard led by Arthur Middleton rode the short distance from Wilkins plantation to Kingston.

::::::

"Ah yes, I know the Howard's quite well," the old owner of the store told Bordon.

"Do you have news of them? I wish to enquire after their daughter, Miss Howard."

"You do?" The old man looked startled. "Ah... With respect, sir, if you were thinking of forming an attachment with Miss Howard then I feel I must warn you, Sir, that the Howards are strongly Patriot."

"They are?" Bordon feigned surprise. He had entered the shop with no real excuse to be asking after the Howard's and had feared drawing attention to himself but the old man had solved his problem. Assuming that Bordon was after an attachment with Anne was as good a reason as any he could have thought of. "That is a disappointment."

"Yes, I am sorry Sir. Besides the young woman was married some months ago now and the couple are expecting their first child."

"Well..." Bordon breathed. "That is wonderful news for them. Tell me, Sir, when will their baby be born? I would like to send them a gift to congratulate them."

Dear Lord, do not let it be soon, it could be mine! Christ!

"Mighty Gentlemanly of you, Sir!" the owner said with approval. "Another five months or so, I believe."

"Ah very good," Bordon tried to hide his elation and relief. It could not possibly be his. "I will look around for something suitable, then."

"Very well!"

The store owner smiled brightly, assuming the Captain would buy something of high quality, therefore expensive.

Which Bordon did. He purchased the lace for Margaret and a few other items, then left in search of Tavington. He whistled tunelessly as he strode along the main rode and could not help but smile. No bastard for him, no by blow. Margaret need never learn that he had raped Anne Howard and if rumour should reach her ears, his own men would deny it until they were blue in the face.

He spied Tavington ahead and strode immediately toward him. As he walked, he remembered the guilt he had felt at the time, after raping the rebel woman. The Colonel had been there for him during his time of contrition, as had the other Dragoons. And now? After all these months, he had barely even thought of the woman. And he certainly felt no guilt, not any more. It had hardened him, he was certain, he was far more like Tavington these days. Which was exactly as he needed to be - no regret, remorse, no self recriminations.

This was war and there simply was no room for penitence during times of war.

"Ah there you are, Bordon," Tavington greeted his Captain. "You will be pleased to know that Lyra has found a wet nurse."

"Excellent news! Margaret will be pleased. Perhaps we can make use of her for Lydia? I would like to sleep a single night through without my wife having to slip away to feed the babe every few hours. You know that Lydia began to cry the other night, right when I was about to... Well..." Bordon paused and glanced around. "Right when I was about to come! Babies are no good for husbands when they are trying to have relations with their wives."

"Hmm, don't I know it now?" Tavington curled his lip. "I wanted to with Lyra this morning but before I even had a chance she jumped out of bed to see to Edward. Damned inconvenient. I'll be left wanting all day now."

"If you had not bought your fiancé along, we could have slipped away to the tavern and found a willing lass to share."

"Stephen, you are positively corrupted now. You sound more like Captain Wilkins every day."

Bordon laughed, Wilkins was notorious for visiting doxies.

"You know," Tavington said as they began to walk up the street. "The woman Lyra found is actually quite a pretty thing. I am fairly certain she will be receiving a fair amount of attention."

"Not from you, however. You've quite shocked me, turning into such a faithful hound for your fiancé."

"Hound?" Tavington raised an eyebrow coldly.

Bordon laughed at him however, feeling not the slightest bit intimidated. The two men were friends from long, long ago and Bordon knew Tavington could take a quip or two at his expense.

"A faithful hound, Sir. With respect."

Tavington scoffed. "And what of you? You have gone the other way completely, I would even go so far as to call you a debaucher."

"Hmm. Again, Wilkins fault. We should never have befriended these Colonials. It is quite a coincidence that we should discuss this now, Margaret was asking me only last night if I have been faithful to her."

"Well, I hope you lied through your teeth Stephen. Telling her the truth will only give you a headache. Speaking of co-incidences, the woman we have taken into our service for Edward told us a tale of a rebel visiting her in the wee hours of the morning, bearing a baby and begging she feed him."

"And the little baby was..?"

"Edward, of course. She recognised the boy instantly. I questioned her closely about the rebel but the man never told her his name and there was nothing particularly defining about him except he had very curly hair."

"Pity that," Bordon muttered. "The sooner we find their camp and deal with them the better. With Cornwallis breathing down our necks, we need to get the rebels in hand so we can move the hell out of South Carolina."

"Don't I know it," the Colonel growled.

::::::::

Edward's intrusion into their lives certainly took getting used too. For so long now it had only been the two of them, Lyra and William. Of course living in Wilkins manor they did have to share their time with their companions, and William's duties kept him away more often than not. But when they retired to their bed chamber it was just the two of them. They could sit up talking late into the night. They could couple, or merely go to sleep in one another's arms.

The chamber was their inner sanctum and they were only ever interrupted if there was a dire emergency.

Until now.

Yes, quite a lot of adjusting to, indeed. They had to be far more quieter during love making in case they woke Edward.

And _he_ woke _them_ constantly with his snorts and snores and snuffles. Who knew a sleeping baby could be so darned noisy? And when he needed feeding - he screamed the house down if Lyra did not get him to the wet nurse in time.

Such a temper on him!

"I wonder where he gets that from?" Lyra had tartly asked William, then laughed at his expression.

For a such a tiny little thing, Edward suddenly took up a huge space in the couple's lives.

But Lyra would not have had it any other way. After a week of living with his son, William came to realise he would not have had it any other way either. He barely thought of Charlotte in that first week, whenever he spoke of Edward's mother, he was referring to Lyra.

"Just wait a few more moments, your mamma is fetching the wet nurse," he would murmur to the baby. Or "your mamma will change your swaddling soon, no need to gripe so!"

Charlotte was always in the back of Lyra's mind, however. She felt absolutely wretched for the woman, it was difficult to imagine what Edward's real mother must be going through, the grief after having her baby taken away from her. Such an evil thing to do, even if he was bought into a loving and secure environment.

Early one morning, one week to the day after Edward's unexpected arrival, Colonel Tavington announced that he had changed his mind.

"About what, honey?" Lyra asked him absently as she rocked Edward in her arms and patted his back, trying to bring up a burp or two.

"About his name," Tavington said. He stood by the windows, gazing out, not meeting Lyra's eyes.

"Oh?" She asked carefully, though she felt a thrill of hope inside.

"Yes. He will remain Edward, but..." he paused, as if gathering himself. "He will be a Tavington."

"Oh William!" Lyra exclaimed. "Oh, honey, you won't regret it. He is your son, just as the baby growing within me is. If they are to be raised together as siblings, then they should have the same name."

"So you've told me repeatedly over the last week," William said ruefully. "And I quite agree," he turned from the window to gaze down at his son. "Yes, he is mine and will have my name. Edward Tavington."

"And his middle name?"

"Not William, Lyra," he said firmly. "_Your_ son will be William."

"I know, honey," she paused and searched his face, then asked carefully, "How about Charles?"

"Charles?" He frowned, then his eyes widened with outrage and he tightened his lips. "After _Charlotte_?"

"She is his mother, he should have at least one thing of her."

"No."

"But -"

"No!" he snapped. "We will think of something else! John perhaps? After my father."

"You hated your father!"

"Well... Something else then. Not Charles!"

Lyra sighed heavily and gazed down at Eddie - as she had begun to call him. At least William had relented and given the boy his father's name. That was enough.

For now.

::::::

Lyra and Tavington sat on the lovers chair on Wilkins verandah, enjoying some quiet time together while Edward slept in their chamber upstairs. Their peaceful moment was interrupted however, when Tavington saw a rider was approaching the plantation. The man had ridden his horse so hard there was froth on the chargers nostrils.

"Word from the Fort!" The Redcoat Private called by way of greeting.

"Yes, Private?" Tavington strode forward to stand at the soldier's stirrup, Lyra followed more slowly until she stood behind her fiancé.

"Sightings, Sir, of rebels - a growing number assembling a few miles from here."

"My orders?" Tavington asked sharply.

"Lord Cornwallis wants you to take a patrol and determine the size of the camp and disperse them if you can," the Private replied before turning to Lyra. "Miss Mathan, I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but word came down from Raleigh - again, I am sorry, but your plantation has been targeted."

"Oh, no! What happened? I hope no one was hurt?"

"Ah, well, yes. Some people were hurt, I am afraid. Your manor there was burned to the ground and the crops also. The slaves were forced to recruit to the rebel militia, the male ones anyway. And when the Loyalist family, the caretakers of your Estate made protest they -"

He paused and glanced at Tavington, uncertain if he should continue. The Colonel nodded, and placed his arm around Lyra's shoulders.

"The women were roughed up a bit and the children were left in peace, but their father - the manager of the property... I'm sorry, he was killed. They hung him from a tree."

Lyra reeled with shock. Though she had never met Mr. Harding in person, she had become well acquainted with him through correspondence. One piece of advice on property ownership that Mrs. Bordon had insisted on, was to keep a very strict control of the plantations business and management. Lyra had taken it to heart and had been in constant communication with Mr. Harding over the last few months.

But the plantation was gone now, all gone. And the caretaker's family attacked, Mr. Harding himself killed.

"Was it a happenstance attack?" Tavington asked, though he knew it pushed coincidence to its limit. "Incidental?"

"No, Sir. It was deliberate. The rebels spoke of..." Again he hesitated.

"Yes?" Tavington prompted.

"Ah, sorry, Sir, but the rebels spoke of 'the Butcher's Whore' and burning her plantation to the ground. It was a deliberate attack on Miss Mathan."

"Thank you," the Colonel said abruptly, and turned his shocked fiancé toward the house. "That will be all."

:::

"Dear Lord, William! I must do something to help the family!"

"As you wish," Tavington said, somewhat distracted. The plantation, burned to the ground! It was an absolute disaster!

He had pinned his sights on Ohio, of course, but that was before meeting Lyra. Before falling in love with her and learning of her wealth.

The two had planned on retiring to her Green Haven, which generated a large income. It was an established and thriving plantation, unlike his interests in Ohio. He had envisioned taking over the management of Green Haven and had already considered contacting his connections in London, approaching new avenues for dealing the indigo. He and Lyra could have wiled away their free time together, enjoying the luxuries of the large manor house on the property, watching their children grow hearty and strong.

But it was all gone and he must now resort to his original plan of establishing himself and Lyra in Ohio, which would be no easy feat. He would be beginning from scratch with not even a manor house to move into!

Lyra was still expressing her concerns for the caretakers family, and something she said drew his attention.

"Five thousand pounds! Lyra, you can't be serious!"

"I am serious! The Harding family has served mine for many years, William, and now Mrs. Harding has lost her husband. The children have lost their father! They have no income now -"

"Nor do you!" He snapped furiously, cutting her short. Her eyes widened with astonishment, she had not thought of that. "Yes, my darling, with the indigo plantation destroyed, your livelihood is all gone. You still have your eighty thousand and the interest it earns will give you a very nice yearly income," a _huge_ under estimation. The yearly interest from her eighty thousand would be substantial indeed, she would want for nothing for the rest of her life! "But your earnings are now gone. You would do well now to consider selling the land -"

"Shouldn't we rebuild?"

_We... _William smiled, it heartened him when she included him in her plans for the future, though he was impatient for her to make it official.

"What would be the point?" He pulled her into his arms. "We still have Ohio. If we must establish from the ground up, we might as well do it as far from here as possible. It was a gamble, setting up in Raleigh. I am too well known, as is my reputation. Sell Green Haven, and we shall invest the profit off shore, security in case our endeavors in Ohio fail."

"Oh. Will you help me? Mr. Sampson sold the farm on my behalf, but who knows when we'll be back in Charles Town? I suppose I could write to him -"

"No, leave it to me," Tavington said firmly. She was finally including him in on some very major decisions and this was another way to prove his worth to her. "I will take care of everything."

"How much should I give to the family, then? I want to help them, William."

_She is far to generous for her own good... Oh well, if this the way she feels she needs to deal with this catastrophe..._

"I think I remember you telling me the Harding's family has plenty of sons?" He asked her.

Lyra nodded.

"We shall offer them a small portion of land, for them to work and make their own living. I will divide it off before we sell the plantation. A generous strip, near a river or another source of water. I'll have a look at a map of the land, and decide from there."

"Oh, thats a wonderful idea!" She said enthusiastically. "And two thousand pounds."

Tavington snorted. A compromise.

"Very well," he said reluctantly. "If that is what you wish."

"It is."

::::

A/N - Hi Smiley! I'm fairly certain Tavi would have gotten rid of the child without Lyra's threat. :-) Unfortunately, Edward won't keep his purple eyes. My own girls were born with the most beautiful dark blueish purple, but they faded and are a normal blue now. Must have been a 'newborn' thing. So Edward's eyes will fade and be the same colour as his fathers. A yummy cold blue.

:-)

JScorpio - I took your advice about Bordon. :-)


	46. Chapter 46 - A Trip to Kingston

**Chapter 45 - A Trip to Kingston**

The women had to wait for the Green Dragoons to return from their scouting trip before their next excursion to Kingston. A week passed them by, the women settled into a new routine that included little Edward. While they were quite content to wile away their time at Wilkins manor, each of them longed for their men to return to them safe and sound.

Finally a sound similar to thunder rumbled through ground and in a fever of excitement the women rushed to meet their lovers on the verandah. Sally and Eleanor remained inside with the babies while Lyra, Emily and Margaret greeted their Redcoat soldiers.

They had been home only a day or so when Captain Bordon suggested a visit to Kingston. The women jumped at the chance of course, all of them. It did not take long to organise. Before she knew it, Lyra was climbing into the carriage for the short ride to town, and then clambering out again with her companions.

Emily and Joseph disappeared with Eleanor. James Wilkins, Margaret and Bordon all remained with Tavington and Lyra. Following at a discreetful distance were the six Green Dragoons from Lyra's guard led by Michael Middleton.

"Are you certain he is warm enough?" William asked Lyra as he gazing down at his son. Edward was still small enough that he could cradle happily in only one of his father's strong arms.

"He's fine," Lyra smiled up at him. "We will not be long in any case. I just want to have a look through the mercantile, see if there is anything I can make use of."

Margaret, carrying Lydia in her arms, nodded enthusiastically. "Best to get there before Mrs. Bryant and Mrs. Simms do, or they will take first pick of everything."

Lyra giggled, it had happened before. The four of them made a small game of pouring over the mercantile's scant wares, then gloating over their purchases later back at Wilkins' manor. It was all good natured fun, of course, the women loaned each other anything and everything they purchased, especially books.

When they reached the store, Lyra took Edward from Tavington and they went their separate ways. Sally trailed along behind the silk clad women, while Tavington, Bordon and Wilkins went in another direction. Michael Middleton led the small guard to the mercantile and the Dragoons took up position outside as Lyra ducked into the shop with her companions.

"Oh, drat!" Lyra laughed when she entered. Emily and Eleanor were already there, already with their baskets full of their chosen loot.

"Look here, Lyra!" Emily dragged her over to an organised pile of knitted woolens. "It seems old Mrs. Caulfield has been busy knitting all summer, and is selling her wares - I think this would be wonderful for Eddie, don't you?" She held up a little jacket, and Margaret began rifling through for knitted items for Lydia.

"That's lovely! And it means I do not have to knit!" Lyra laughed.

"Hmm, the yarn would have been wasted on you," Eleanor said under her breath and Lyra shot her a scowl. One of the lessons Lyra had never taken to from her former governess, was knitting. And needle work. And tapestry. If it involved a needle and thread, Lyra was not interested. Give her oils and charcoal any day. "The poor dear boy deserves better than your poor attempts, Lyra."

"Eleanor!" Lyra rolled her eyes. "It is a good thing we have Mrs. Caulfield then, isn't it?" She said archly.

"We should pay her a visit," Emily said. "Take her a side of pork or something to help her along a little. The poor woman, she is struggling with her husband gone."

"Yes, I quite agree," Margaret added. "You never know when it could be us, with our soldier husband's. Though I can't stand to think about it. Oh, isn't this lovely?" She held up some little boots, and Lyra began searching for some for Edward. Even Emily began her own little pile, though she had only been married for almost two weeks. Furthermore, she'd had her mensies in the last week, so could not possibly be with child yet. It paid to be prepared, however.

One never knew when one would suddenly have need of children's clothes, as Lyra had discovered.

Sally took little Edward from Lyra's arms, so that the other woman could take a better look at the merchandise without having to juggle the little burden. Lyra chatted blithely with the other women, holding items up for Sally's approval, when a quiet and familiar woman's voice spoke behind the small group.

"Miss Mathan?"

Lyra turned, and her face drained of colour.

She was face to face with Mrs. Charlotte Selton whose eyes flickered longingly toward her son, in Sally's arms.

"Mrs. Selton," Lyra breathed, utterly stunned and entirely uncertain. She had come to love little Edward dearly over the last two weeks, but he _was_ Charlotte's son.

"I..." again, that longing look toward her son. "May I? Please, just for a..."

Charlotte broke down then, tears streamed down her cheeks and great sobs racked her body.

Without hesitation, Lyra took Edward from Sally's arms and placed him firmly in his mother's. Charlotte gasped and held him close, gazing down at him with adoration and love.

"Oh, my boy..." She spoke no further, the words would not form. The other women watched with grave commiseration as Charlotte was reunited with her son. She pulled the blankets further from the boys face so she could gaze down at him.

It was several minutes before Charlotte found her voice again. Her eyes still on her son, she began to whisper.

"It was terrible. I went into labour, and then suddenly he was there, Benjamin. I was in too much pain delivering my baby to think about it, about what he was doing there, though I had not seen him for months. But then as soon as he was born, my little boy -" her voice caught again, and it took a few moments before she could continue. Her voice was high and reedy, she was on the verge of crying again. "My little boy. Benjamin took him. I was not even able to hold him, nor even to look at him. This is my first time, for both!"

"Oh, dear Lord!" Lyra gathered the weeping woman into her arms, though Charlotte was far taller. "Shh, there there," she whispered through her own tears as she stroked Charlotte's shoulders.

"How could he?" Charlotte whispered. "To take my baby away, and all for petty revenge against Tavington. Oh, you don't know... how I've worried... I've not been able to sleep... able to eat... Knowing he, my son, was given to the Butcher..."

Lyra opened her mouth to protest, but Charlotte forestalled her. "Oh, I can see he is well enough, Miss Mathan. He is healthy," she hefted him, it was clear the boy was well nourished and strong. "But I did not know that before. I've... I knew where you were living... I've stayed close to the town hoping... to see him... Oh, he's beautiful, isn't he?"

"He is indeed," Lyra agreed softly. "And he is very well loved, Mrs. Selton. You need not fear..." her voice broke, her face twisted with grief for the woman before her and for her loss. "You need not fear for him. William has come to... to love him dearly."

"I did not think he was capable of such," Charlotte said, her soft tone tinged with anger. She continued in a more gentle tone, "what did you name him?"

"Edward Charles Tavington."

"Edward... Charles?" She asked and Lyra nodded.

"Ohhh you named him for me!" Charlotte wailed, her eyes brimming with fresh tears.

Lyra remembered the heated arguments she'd had with William, when she demanded he give the boy 'Charles' as his second name, in honor of his mother, the woman he might never have known. She was glad now, certain she had done the right thing.

"I did," she said simply as she wiped her eyes.

"Mrs. Selton, where are you living?" Mrs. Bryant asked. And for the first time Lyra _looked_ at Charlotte - really _looked_ at her - and her eyes widened with astonishment.

The woman's silks were threadbare at best, her normally beautiful face was sallow, she was far too thin. Her hair, pulled up beneath her cap, was lank and dirty. She even had dirt under her fingernails! Her wrists were far too thin, and there were dirt smears on her neck where she had not thought to wash before coming into the township.

"Oh, here and there," Charlotte said evasively.

"Oh, my God," Lyra murmured. "William burned your plantation. You can't return to your home in Charles Town because of your connection to the Ghost. Mr. Martin is not caring for you, he's left you to fend for yourself! Where are you staying?" her tone became demanding.

"I... I was staying with friends, but the Green Dragoons - they have been patrolling this area and you know what they do to the farms of Patriots. Each place I go, ends up being visited by the Dragoons and each place is burned to the ground. Many of those people have other family to go to, but I..."

"Have no one." Lyra finished for the other woman, her heart going out to her.

This woman standing before her, was the embodiment of every atrocity Tavington had committed.

"Lyra, Lyra, Lyra..." Mrs. Bryant shook her head and closed her eyes as though ready to begin praying. "You can not help Mrs. Selton, as much as it breaks my heart!"

Eleanor had known the woman herself in more peaceful times, Lyra's farm was not very far from Charlotte's plantation and they had all attended church together on Sundays back when Eleanor was Lyra's governess.

"Why not?" Lyra demanded. "This is all William's fault! He... He..." She glanced around frantically, though she could not bring herself to say it. _He raped her!_ She settled for: "He did what he did. And then he burned down her home! Her son has been taken from her, she has no where to live! She is skin and bones!" She turned to Charlotte. "I do believe you when you say that you were too worried for your son to eat, Mrs. Selton. But clearly you have not had a decent meal for months because you've had no way to provide food for yourself! You must come back to the plantation with us and -"

"By no means," Tavington said coldly from behind the small group. Lyra had not heard him and the other Dragoons enter the mercantile. "Will that happen, Lyra. By Christ, it will not."

He stepped froward and without a second glance at Charlotte, ripped his son from the woman's arms.

::::::::::::::::

"William!" Lyra hissed. The two had retreated to a far corner to have their argument in privacy. Charlotte wept on Mrs. Bryant's shoulder, and the other women stood around her, soothing.

"No." Tavington said firmly, holding his son to his chest. Captain Bordon and Captain Wilkins watched the scene in silence.

"Edward's mother!" She accused.

"Indeed. It changes nothing, you are his mother now."

"She is grieving, he is hers! I love him dearly, but it is not right! It is not _just_! Everything has been taken from her, and it is _all your fault_! Will you take _no_ responsibility?"

"For a _rebel_? What would you have me do, hmm?" he leaned forward and pinned her with a cold, hard glare. "Allow her to stay at the plantation? Allow her to see Edward? What if he forms an attachment toward her? It will only cause him pain later, when he is separated from her again! Unless you are planning that she move with us to Ohio?" He scoffed to show what he thought of that idea, though beneath it all was fury, unadulterated fury.

"I do not know what the future holds, any more than you do! All I know, William, is that I can not stand the idea of sending her on her way just now! Look at her, William! Just look! Find something within you, dig down deep and find your humanity! It must be in there somewhere!"

Tavington's fingers twitched. He had promised not to strike her again but if he had not been holding Edward at that moment he _would_ have struck her. Promise or no damned promise!

"I have no mercy, no humanity for Patriots, for rebels!" He grated in a rough tone. "We are at war, and I'll be damned if I waste a single moment, feeling remorse over any of my actions!"

"She hasn't eaten in only the Lord knows how long! Where is she sleeping? How will she survive the winter? Your son's mother!"

"Is standing right before me, Lyra, arguing with me as per _bloody_ usual! _You_ are this boys mother!"

"Christ!" Lyra screamed with frustration, startling Edward, making him cry.

Charlotte's head lifted from Eleanor's shoulder and she took an automatic step forward to soothe her son, but was stopped by Tavington's murderous glance.

"Your son!" He rounded on Lyra once more. "She may have birthed him, but he is yours and mine!"

"I believe I might have a solution..." Captain Wilkins' quiet voice cut through the raging argument, silencing Lyra and William both.

"Do you so?" William asked coldly.

"Ah, yes," James' eyes were on Charlotte, and he approached her carefully as he would a wounded animal ready to bolt. "Marriage," he said, almost nervously.

"I will marry Lyra and no other!" Colonel Tavington snapped.

"Oh, hush - he wasn't meaning _you_!" Lyra hissed. "He meant himself!"

William fell silent, tense and rigid, as James addressed Charlotte.

"I believe... That is... I am in want of a wife, Mrs. Selton, and you are in want of a husband," he went on more firmly. "This war will not last forever, but perhaps if you and I marry, you will be able to see your son, for a short time until Colonel Tavington and Miss Mathan leave - after the war, I mean."

Charlotte hesitated, Wilkins was a Tory after all, but her situation was dire indeed, and she found herself listening.

"I can give you more children, Mrs. Selton. I know, it will not blunt the pain of losing this one," he waved an arm toward Edward. "But it would certainly help."

"I..." Still hesitating. "I have my manor in Charles Town, its been seized by the British, however. But if you can have it released, it would serve as a dowry..."

Lyra expelled a breath she had not realised she was holding. Charlotte was considering it.

"A very decent dowry, Mrs. Selton," Wilkins agreed, gaining confidence. "Situated on Tradd St, at that. It is large enough, for all the children we will hopefully have together."

"I'm a Patriot," she pointed out.

"And I'm a Loyalist," he shrugged. "What of it? Do you plan on killing me in my sleep?" He smiled, hoping the quip would lighten the mood.

Charlotte ignored him, her eyes now on Tavington.

"Will you gainsay this? He is your Captain."

"And is free to marry who ever he wishes, no matter how ill advised," Tavington curled his lip.

"William!" Lyra gasped. "Mrs. Selton does not deserve to be spoken to so! Her only crime is being a Patriot!" Her tone made it clear she did not believe it was much of a crime at all.

Tavington shrugged. "If you do this," he said firmly to the both James and Charlotte, "do not think you will take mine and Lyra's son from us."

"Of course not!" Wilkins rushed to assure the Colonel. "Besides, a father's claim is far stronger than a step-father's. I am merely trying to secure a decent marriage, Sir, with a fine woman indeed," he gazed down at Charlotte and Lyra was struck dumb, realising that Wilkins had feelings for Mrs. Selton.

Charlotte raised her head high, there was no surprise in her expression at all.

"So," she confronted him. "After all these years, you are finally able to secure me."

"I will be a good husband, Mrs. Selton," Wilkins said firmly, not backing down from the challenge in the woman's eyes. "And I do not think you dislike me to any true degree, do you? If I repulse you, I will withdraw my offer, and pursue you no longer."

It was not a threat, he was being a Gentleman.

"You do not repulse me, Captain Wilkins," she replied. "Though I am as wroth with you as I am with him -" she waved her arm toward Tavington. "You threw the first firebrand! You held Marly, made her howl so I would think she was Margaret! You are not innocent of wrong doing."

"I am not, I agree," he owned, at the same time as Tavington spoke up.

"He was following orders, Mrs. Selton," he said in a voice colder than winter snow. "And is loyal enough to follow those orders. He will not apologise for his actions," he held Wilkins gaze firmly, his expression promising retribution if James dared.

"No," James agreed. "I will not apologise. Mrs. Selton, will you marry me?"

Again, Charlotte hesitated, but there was no other choice for her. She realised she should be thanking her lucky stars. If truth be told, Wilkins was a God send, the answer to her prayers. And he was handsome enough, she would have considered him long since if not for her love of Benjamin.

"Yes, Captain Wilkins," she said finally. "I will marry you."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

Lyra stepped away from William abruptly, a clear display of support for Charlotte.

"You will, of course, return with us to Captain Wilkins manor now," she took Mrs. Selton by the arm and ignored Tavington's scowl. "You will need something decent to eat. We need a seamstress, also. We are expecting a caravan from Charles Town shortly, I wonder if it isn't too late to send word - perhaps we can have someone go into your home and collect any dresses you have left behind?"

The two were already walking out of the mercantile, followed by the other women.

Tavington trailed more slowly holding his son, watching as his fiancé reassured Mrs. Selton that everything would be fine. That they would hold the wedding at the mansion, that Lyra was certain her belongings could be bought down from Charles Town. He scowled, then tightened his lips as he caught Bordon and Wilkins gaze.

"What happened to the docile frightened little thing we met at that rebel's farm all those months ago?" Bordon mused. "She has proven herself to be quite the fiery thing."

"Don't I know it," Tavington muttered. "She gets the better of me in almost every argument."

"You are indulgent of her, thats all," Wilkins said. "You could assert your authority if you wished, though I believe you prefer her as she is rather than the beaten down trodden thing she was."

"Yes," Tavington agreed. It was true enough, he did prefer her as she was now. Though while he enjoyed seeing her set other people back on their heels, he could wish she was not quite so assertive with him!

It would be easy enough to rectify. He could make her fear him again, but the very thought made his stomach twist. He wanted her to gaze at him with love and adoration, not with the fear he saw in almost everyone else's eyes. There was good reason to assert his will over others, he had a war to fight and would stop at nothing to do his duty.

No, it was much better this way. Besides, a soldier needed a strong wife. Not a milksop.

He was fuming, however. He caught her words, now promising Charlotte time with her son. He glanced down at Edward, _his_ son, and decided that perhaps Lyra was correct. Perhaps the boy deserved a little time with his mother, before William took him and Lyra away to Ohio to live the remainder of their lives.

"Sir!" Sally called from behind him.

Tavington turned to the maid, whose arms were loaded with clothes. "Will you pay for these? Lyra and the other ladies left without paying."

William rolled his eyes and darted back into the mercantile to pay for Lyra's purchases. When he came out he caught sight of Lyra and her companions further along the street, making their way to the carriage. He was still very irritated and, shifting Edward within the circle of his arms, he turned his scowl on Wilkins.

"So, marriage," he decided to take his ire out on his Captain. "To a Patriot." He curled his lip.

"I believe you are supposed to congratulate me, Sir," Wilkins said mildly. "Mrs. Selton is a fine woman, wealthy, beautiful, though she has certainly seen better days."

"It does not bother you that I had her first?" Tavington taunted, and Bordon barked a laugh.

"Who says you had her first?" Wilkins asked, genuinely surprised. "I've known Charlotte a very long time, Colonel."

Both Tavington and Bordon stopped in their tracks, their jaws hanging to the ground.

"When?" William demanded.

"Where?" Bordon added.

Wilkins laughed. "Miss Mathan is right, men are worse gossips than women."

He spent the remainder of the journey home telling the two British Redcoats of his previous liaisons with Mrs. Charlotte Selton, which had taken place shortly after the grieving widow's husband had died.

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A/N - Thanks again for the reviews ladies!

Smiley - I'm glad you liked the chapter! :-)


	47. Chapter 47 - A Celebratory Dinner

**Chapter 46 - ****A Celebratory Dinner**

Lyra checked on Edward to make certain he was sleeping soundly. At nearly six weeks old, the boy was beginning to sleep through the night, which was a huge relief to Lyra.

It was an even larger relief to the wet nurse, Lyra suspected. Miss Claire Henderson had her own baby to feed, as well as Edward and sometimes Lydia. She was run even more ragged than Margaret had been when she was feeding both babies! Miss Henderson was still far better off as Edward's wet nurse than than she had been before, nevertheless. She was well fed now and with so many women in the house, she was often able to leave her baby in their care to catch up on much needed sleep.

Claire Henderson was quite the pretty creature and despite having a baby out of wedlock, she was being courted quite seriously by several Redcoats from Tavington's British Legion. Not Green Dragoons - Lyra had warned the young woman that most of the Green Dragoons were of the aristocracy and would only be courting her for a night or two of pleasure. The infantry attracted soldiers from a lower birth, ones who could not afford to purchase a commission to the elitist Dragoons. Miss Henderson had taken Lyra's advice and only allowed those men of the infantry to court her, soon discovering at least two of them desired her for marriage.

Lyra smiled as she climbed into bed. She had enjoyed playing the role of match maker and was certain there would be another wedding soon.

Charlotte and James' wedding had taken place the day after she had arrived to the plantation, which was about a month ago now. As she had given birth to Edward only two weeks before she and James said their vows, they had not been able to consummate their marriage. Charlotte had confided to Lyra that James was patient and would wait the full six weeks as the midwife had advised, but Charlotte herself was fearful. Their marriage could be annulled at any time, because they had not had relations yet.

Now six weeks had passed since she had given birth, and the Green Dragoons would be returning later that evening. Lyra felt certain Charlotte and Captain Wilkins would finally know each other as man and wife in only a few more hours.

Lyra was drifting off to sleep when the door opened and Tavington strode in. She smiled brightly, jumped out of bed and skipped over to her fiancé to welcome him home.

"He's sleeping?" He whispered against her lips with a long sigh, pleased to be home, pleased to have her in his arms again.

"Like a baby," she whispered back with a smile. "He's been fussy, Mrs. Bordon thinks he's growing. She said Lydia went through the same thing. He wouldn't stop feeding, but I think it's passing now." She bought one of his hands up to her mouth and tugged his gloves off his fingers with her teeth. Tavington watched, amused, as she did the same with his other hand, planting a light kiss on his fingers as she worked.

She then began to help him undress, unbuckling his sword belt and placing it against the wall quietly, before attacking his other belts, helping him out of his Redcoat and his white shirt, then his breeches. Tavington, in his haste to be intimate with his fiancé, hopped on one foot to pull off first one boot, and then the other.

He slowed down and gasped when Lyra began to palm his naked bulge.

"Its been too long," she whispered needfully and Tavington remembered her constant need to couple.

"How have you gotten along with out me?" he asked, his voice thick with both amusement and desire.

"I've taken a lover, did I not tell you?"

"Hmm, you better not have," he growled and picked her up, setting her on the edge of the bed. "Besides, would your new lover do this?"

He pushed her shift up to her waist, slowly guiding her legs apart. Lyra sighed. He was still standing but she knew he would soon be kneeling before her, giving her the most exquisite pleasure. But first he cupped her face with his hands and leaned down to kiss her gently.

"I missed you," he said quietly, his lips moving across hers, then drifting along her cheek, her jaw, a wet trail of kisses to the shell of her ear. Lyra sighed, melting against him. "You're so beautiful Lyra, I don't think I've told you that lately."

"No," she breathed, his lips leaving a trail of tingles and fire across her skin. Small pleasant flips in her stomach and along her spine. "Very remiss of you, honey."

"Indeed," he shuffled closer, his warm breath now tickling her neck. She tilted her head to the side with an expectant sigh, and his mouth drifted along the smooth skin, making her shiver. She wrapped her hand around his erection, tugging him deliberately and slowly as his lips drifted back to hers. She parted her lips invitingly, and he slid his tongue into her mouth, stroking softly while her fingers stroked his member gently.

Finally he stood high above her, and she leaned forward to take him into her mouth.

She was aching by now, needful and wanting and she remembered belatedly that _he_ was meant to be on _his_ knees pleasuring _her_! She kept going, nevertheless, her tongue sliding along the underside of his cock as his hands wound through her unbound hair.

A rhythmic thump, thump, thump came from the room next door, Wilkins reunited with his wife, Mrs. Charlotte _Wilkins_. Finally! Their marriage was consummated.

Tavington barely seemed to notice the noise coming from next door, as he began slowly bucking his pelvis back and forward, driving his cock further into Lyra's mouth. She opened her mouth wider, accepting more of him, sucking him more forcefully now. She felt his erection twitch, her cue to cup his sack gently, suckling his member all the harder. Unable to take any more, William groaned and began to writhe and buck furiously, the tingle at the base of his cock growing unbearable. He threw back his head and stifled a string of curses as the tingle moved up his shaft, growing stronger by the second. Finally the head of his cock seemed to explode and he growled low in his throat, as his seed spurt from him and into Lyra's mouth.

It took him quite a while to recover. He lowered himself to his knees before her, for all the world like a supplicant, and laid his head in her lap. She stroked his hair, unwound it from its queue while he caught his breath.

"Honey?" She said down at him, and he lifted his head, smiling to see the expectation in her eyes.

"Oh, you would like your turn, would you? Hmm?" He asked her. "You said you have a lover, darling. Perhaps you might wish to go and find him for the task -"

Lyra began to giggle. "No he is not available just now. You will have to do," she said as she lifted one leg up over his shoulder and then the other, before laying back with a sigh. "You may begin."

Tavington smirked, leaned forward and began to tease her with his tongue, moving lovingly across her folds. "Now, my angel," he murmured. "Quietly, remember?"

"Hmm, hmm," Lyra agreed, then melted into the mattress as he set to work, his tongue flicking over her quim deliciously.

There had been a time previously when Lyra had become quite abandoned, crying out and clutching him to her as her orgasm swept through her. The only problem was, little Edward had woken up and instantly began to fuss, putting an end to any further play for a few hours.

And so the couple knew to be quiet now.

It did not take long - Lyra had been increasingly needful by the day while William was gone and before long she was drumming her heels against his back. She gasped as his tongue circled her quim, he kissed her and suckled her gently. Two of his strong fingers slipped deep inside her, groping for the sweet spot that made her writhe every time. Lyra gasped and bucked, the pleasure inside her stirring to great heights. It finally exploded within her, washing through her body even as she squeezed her thighs shut and grasped a pillow to her face to stifle her moans.

"Oh, God," she whimpered as she edged back on the bed. Tavington moved across her body, settling his weight on her. "Wonderful..."

"Hmm, I dare say I quite agree," he murmured down at her. He took hold of his erection, already stiff again and positioned himself ready to enter her. "Wonderful indeed," he entered her slowly and growled low in his throat. "Christ you are so tight, so hot!"

He braced himself on his elbows above her, pinning her to the bed with his weight.

"Oh, dear Lord, this is what I need," Lyra was whimpering already and he had not even begun to move yet! The bed next door was still thumping, more vigorously now and Tavington finally began to notice. He scowled, still not entirely reconciled to Charlotte's presence in their lives. She was mistress of the manor now though she did not assert her authority, leaving Lyra and Margaret to the day to day running.

"Forget them," Lyra whispered against his lips. "I have need of you, my darling. Please..."

Forgetting all about Charlotte in the face of his fiancé's plea, Tavington began to lift his pelvis in a fluid motion, up and down, stroking in and out of her as quickly and as hard as he dared.

Margaret had told Lyra on the quiet, that coupling would only hurt the babe if Tavington was brutally rough. Lyra was still keeping her pregnancy very quiet but was no longer able to keep it a secret from her companions. It had astounded the other women to discover she was with child and now her friends - even Charlotte for crying out loud, had begun to badger her about accepting Tavington's proposal. Eleanor was the worst, of course, followed closely by Margaret Bordon, who was still very much a British Lady.

"Hmm," Lyra sighed now, her itch was finally being assuaged. "Oh, William..."

She met his thrusts, trying to coax him to move harder, faster, altering the angle to reach that sweet spot and the canopy deep within her which felt absolutely wonderful when struck just so. She gripped his firm buttocks to drive him deeper, their breathes mingled as they kissed both striving for the ultimate release.

"Turn around," he said urgently, lifting himself off her so she could quickly comply. He was inside her again in a heartbeat, pounding for all he was worth while she panted, quietly and urgently, beneath him. She pushed back, hard and fast, and when his fingers snaked beneath her between her legs to find her quim, she let out a long, low moan.

Close now, so close. He pushed her down to the bed, and began to fuck her - he could not think of a better term for it - it was urgent, desperate, fast, hard. Fucking.

And it was wonderful.

With a low growl of his own he came, his seed bursting inside her even as she began to quiver and contract, convulsing around his cock, reaching climax also.

The spent couple lay still for timeless moments before Tavington took his fiancé into his arms, turning her and kissing her gently. The thumping had stopped next door and Lyra wondered if Captain Wilkins held Charlotte as tenderly as Tavington was holding her. She hoped so, the Captain seemed quite enamored of his new wife.

Tavington's hand moved down her body to stroke her stomach and he glanced down with amazement.

"I can feel the swell!" he said with excitement.

"You can?"

He nodded, his hand stroked the gentle curve that was his baby growing inside her. He smiled down at her, lowering his lips to hers again, her hands snaking through his hair. Both whispered their love and need for one another, until enough time had past that William recovered another erection. Which was perfect for Lyra as she had already begun to feel the need again herself.

It was the same for the next three nights, the Green Dragoons riding out during the day, returning in the evening, Lyra and William making love several times through out the night - it was a good thing Edward had begun sleeping through.

Wilkins and Charlotte spent most of their free time in their bedchamber, though Lyra suspected Charlotte had a secondary alternative to coupling. She tried hard to keep distance between herself and the Colonel feeling extremely uncomfortable in Tavington's presence.

Which was not helped by William, who scowled every time he saw Charlotte holding their son. He never said a word to her, but his eyes grew cold and hard, and Charlotte usually handed Edward over to Lyra and withdrew from the room.

Lyra made no move to prevent Charlotte from spending time with the baby during the day when the Dragoons were gone, all of the women settled into a routine that saw both Lydia and Edward cared for, as well as Claire Henderson's maid - the workload spread amongst them all.

One morning, the third after the Dragoons arrival back at the plantation, an excited squeal came from Emily and Joseph's bedchamber. The midwife had confirmed that Emily was with child, only four weeks after marrying.

A celebration was, therefore, in order.

:::::::::::::

The women began working on a celebratory dinner at once. Tavington had business at the Fort and so he left early with Captain Bordon and a score of Dragoons, though he promised to return before the evening meal.

The women sat around the dining table discussing what was needful for the dinner, both Margaret and Eleanor charging each woman with a task to help with the dinner.

"Well, I need some fresh air, I'll take the job of fruit picking," Lyra offered.

"Better you than me," Emily shivered, "it's so cold out now."

"I will look after Edward," Charlotte said quickly, before anyone else could offer to take the boy.

"I will help Mrs. Wilkins," Sally said. "We'll have Lydia too, freeing Mrs. Bordon to organise the dinner."

A few more tasks were assigned and the ladies dispersed to their designated chores. Edward was still sleeping and Lyra was amused to see  
Charlotte take Wilkins by the hand and lead him up the stairs, no doubt to their bedchamber. Lyra went in search of her guard, for she was not allowed to wander the plantation's grounds on her own since the scare from the rebels.

"So," Lyra smiled Michael Middleton. "You have guard duty today?"

"Indeed I do, Miss Mathan," he gave her a flourishing bow. "What would you like to do today?"

"I have to pick some fruit so that we can make some pies for this evenings meal," she tapped her basket, indicating she was ready to go. "I am not certain what fruit will be in, however."

"Hmm, there might be some apples still," he sounded dubious. "I'll send for Arthur, he can carry the basket."

Lyra laughed. "Because _you can't _carry the basket?"

"I'll need my hands free for... Um..."

"To keep warm in your pockets?" She prompted.

"Exactly!" Michael said cheerily. "Shall we?"

He gestured with his arm and Lyra fell in beside him. As they past Arthur Middleton, Michael grabbed Lyra's basket and handed it to him.

"It's going to be too heavy for our lady to carry soon," he explained. "I hope so anyway. I hope we can find apples - will there be cream as well, Miss Mathan?"

"I'm fairly certain there will be."

"Special occasion?" Arthur asked as they began walking along the paths leading away from the house. Two more Dragoons followed along silently. Lyra did not know them very well, but they were childhood friends of the Middleton's and were newly recruited by Michael. Samuel Parks and Jack Bennett.

"Oh, you haven't heard? Mrs. Simms is with child! I have a new cousin on the way."

"Wonderful news!" Michael said. "And fortuitous for us, if it means there will be pie."

"I will help you pick the apples, Miss Mathan," Arthur offered. "I'm not above setting my sword aside for a worthy cause such as this!"

Lyra laughed brightly and agreed whole heartedly. It certainly was a worthy cause.

"You know," Lyra voiced her worry as she spied the empty apple trees ahead. "It might be too cold for apples." She shivered and wished she had thought to wear her cape.

"Hmm, perhaps," Michael said, blithely striding through the paths. "Yes, it looks like the trees are empty. Drat."

They continued along amongst the trees, but so far they were all devoid of fruit.

"Berries?" Arthur said, rather crestfallen. "Blackberry pie would be the next best thing."

"There are some bushes a little further that way," Michael waved his hand in a northerly direction.

"Another summer fruit," Lyra said. "I do not think we'll have any joy."

"Lets look anyway. I am enjoying the walk," Arthur said, setting off ahead with his brother.

They walked deeper into the woods, further away from the house. Before long the manor was lost entirely from view, as was the Redcoat camp, positioned on the property. They reached the sparse blackberry bushes, again devoid of anything resembling fruit.

Indeed - the surrounding trees did not even have any leaves! Winter was definitely on its way.

"Oh well," Lyra sighed. "Perhaps we should head back, check the larder. There might be some dried fruit we can make a pie from -"

"Well done, lads," the voice that cut Lyra off came from behind an old oak tree, and was followed by a familiar face.

Danvers.

Lyra's face turned white and she took a step closer to Michael before the rebel's words sank in.

_'Well done lads.'_

Danvers' fevered eyes were hot on Lyra as he approached, five more rebels emerging from the woods behind him.

And her guards did nothing, did not raise a finger.

Lyra looked up at Michael, then at Arthur, fear and dread creeping along her spine. Neither Redcoat said a word. Neither Redcoat made a move toward the swords strapped to their sides. She looked to Samuel Parks and Jack Bennett - childhood friends of the Middleton's. Both were as stone faced as Arthur and Michael.

"Mr. Middleton?" She addressed Michael in a small voice. "Have you betrayed me?"

"I am sorry, Miss Mathan," Michael said, staring straight ahead at the rebels rather than at her. Danvers was closer now, almost directly before her.

Run?

She glanced behind her and two of the rebels stepped closer - sensing her sudden tension, one of them taking her by the arm.

No, she could not run.

"Mr. Middleton... Please..."

It was not too late. Michael and Arthur were exceptional swordsman, the fight would be four against six, not impossible numbers.

"Michael, Arthur - at least have the courage to look at me!" She said firmly, becoming angry. How the devil could she protect the babe growing within her, when traitors handed her over to rebels?

_Fuck!_

She resisted the urge to cover her stomach with her hands, a dead give away to William's child in her womb.

"Look at me!" She raged up at Michael. She took his betrayal even harder than Arthurs, for Michael had always been so amiable toward her. She had even suspected he was smitten with her at one point. Now she realised his friendliness had all been a front, to gain her trust. "You traitor! All this time, a _fucking_ traitor!"

Danvers raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face.

Lyra gasped with shock and pain, she stumbled but did not fall.

"Stop that!" Skunk darted forward, at the same time as Curly.

"Ben said she was not to be hurt!"

"You heard the fucking whore - calling the Middleton's traitors!" Danvers yelled.

"Sticks and stones, Danvers!" Curly snapped. "Christ almighty!"

"Fear not, Miss Mathan, no further harm will come to you, I vow on my honor." Skunk took charge of Lyra with a hard frown for Danvers, and began to lead her toward the horses picketed beyond amidst the trees.

"We have to make it look good, I'm afraid," Dan Scott was saying. Lyra turned to look over her shoulder and watched as her four Dragoons, the four _traitors_, braced themselves and stoically took a beating. A few punches, mostly to the face would be enough to convince William that they had put up a fight to protect Lyra.

"Fucking traitors," she muttered under her breath.

Curly did not remonstrate her, he merely shared a look with Skunk. A glance, both significant and disapproving.

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_**A/N: Thanks Smiley and Lisette. I'm pleased you liked the inclusion of Charlotte, the reunion with her son and Wilkins proposal! :-) I felt bad for Charlotte, it would be pure Hell, having your baby taken away like that... She needed a happy ending...**_


	48. Chapter 48 - The Witness

**Chapter 47 - The Witness**

"Dear Lord," Wilkins muttered as he thrust in and out of his wife. "God, Charlotte!"

He arched his back as she rode him, panting her own pleasure with her long blonde hair flying wildly about her.

"Oh, James... James!" She threw her head back and bucked furiously, her hands planted hard on his chest to balance herself. Her climax crashed through her and she moaned, a long and low moan.

"Ah, yes... Christ, I can feel you!" He loved it, being able to draw climaxes from his wife, loved feeling her convulse around his erection, squeezing his cock, drawing him closer to climax.

"That's it, honey," she whispered down at him. "Ah, yes, James," she leaned in to kiss his neck as she moved with him, riding him toward his release. "Give me a child, James," she murmured as her lips met his.

She was almost fevered on the subject, and it would be worse now that Emily and Joseph had announced that they were expecting their first. It did not help that her son was in the house, so close. She was able to hold him, to love him, but he would never be hers. She wanted a baby all her own now and desperately hoped James would be able to give it to her.

James was only too happy to try. He needed an heir, he was not getting any younger. Besides, his wife was beautiful, he had always held an attraction toward her. He had hoped she would marry him all those years ago after John Selton died, when she had sought out his bed for a few glorious months.

"Agh! Christ!" James bellowed, his climax blazed through him and his seed shot along his length, in spurts. Charlotte rocked back and forth, until James was completely spent, then she climbed off him and gestured imperiously. He knew what she wanted, having done this several times over the past week since they had finally been able to couple. He reached around beneath his head and passed her a pillow, which she placed under her buttocks, rising her rump into the air so his seed would not dribble out. She would remain there for at least a half hour, he knew.

He turned over onto his side and stroked her hair gently. She smiled shyly at him.

"I imagine you think I am quite ridiculous," she said in her soft way.

"Not at all, I want a baby now too, Charlotte. If laying on your back with your bottom in the air is going to give us one, then no, I do not believe you are ridiculous at all," he pulled up a blanket to cover her nakedness, it was getting colder these days, with winter coming on.

"I confess myself to be quite..." Charlotte trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Hmm?" He prompted.

"Content," she finished. "It is a surprise to me, I have to admit. After John died, I always thought I would be marry Ben, but here I am married to you, and I am..."

"Content?" James asked, well pleased.

"Happy," she confirmed. "I don't like being so near to Colonel Tavington, but I am able to see my son and so I tolerate the Colonel as best I can. But apart from the ugliness of his presence, I find myself very... Happy. Content. These last months have been such a trial."

"You are already looking much healthier, Charlotte - your skin is back to its lovely glow, and your hair is healthier too. You are becoming fleshier - I was was worried for you, for a while there. You were so thin."

"Hmm. Another thing I have you to be grateful for," she reached her hand up to wind her fingers through his. "You rescued me, James. Tavington would have left me back in Kingston on my own to die."

"No, he wouldn't have. Well, _he_ would have, in a heart beat. But Miss Mathan would not have and she has a power over him. They have some very huge explosions sometimes, I fear they will shout my house down, but he does not hit her or lash out at her as he does others."

"Can't you take a 'thank you' when its offered?" She laughed. "_You_ saved me, not Lyra. Perhaps Lyra would have, but it was _you_. You married me, gave me a roof over my head," then she frowned, "though you did burn my other house down, so perhaps we are even there."

"For what it's worth, I am sorry for that night. Never would I treat my wife that way and you were my future wife all along..."

"Hmm, don't tell Tavington you apologized," Charlotte said tartly.

"Hell no. I would never tell him, but the truth is I do regret some of the things he has us do. I'll never disobey, but I can honestly say I do not always enjoy the tasks he makes us do. Though the others seem to idolise him - even Joseph Simms."

"James," she hesitated, but she felt the sudden need to ask him about the night the Dragoons took Sarah Martin, Benjamin's sister in law. And he _was_ being open and honest with her just now. "When the Dragoons began taking Patriot women captive, did you... Well, that is, did you... Indulge?"

"No," Wilkins lied straight faced, he certainly was not about to admit to his _very_ Patriot wife that he had _raped_ Patriot women. "Only a few of the soldiers raped those women, and I was not one of them."

"Oh, that's good, I'm pleased to hear it - it was weighing heavily on my mind."

"Well, never fear -"

Wilkins cut short when someone in the hallway began pounding on his door.

"James!" Came Captain Joseph's Simms frantic voice. "Come quickly, rebels have taken Lyra!"

"Shit!" James burst out, and threw himself out of the bed.

Thoughts of trying to conceive flew from Charlotte's head. With a gasp, she jumped from the bed and dressed also, and the two darted out into the hall at the same time.

Joseph was, indeed, frantic. He began speaking immediately, as they made their way through the house to the parlor downstairs.

"Michael and Arthur are in the parlor. They are bruised and beaten - Michael said there must have been twenty rebels and they were lucky to get away with their lives!"

"It would have been better for them had they died," Wilkins muttered. "When Colonel Tavington hears about this! When did it happen?"

"About twenty minutes, Michael said. Too late to raise an alarm - the rebels were all mounted. Some fled with Lyra while the others stayed behind and dealt with her guard. Shit - Lyra! My cousin - in the Ghost's hands!"

Wilkins did not try to reassure the distraught man. Joseph was close to Lyra, they had been through so much together. But Wilkins knew as well as Joseph did, what was in store for Lyra. To try to convince Joseph otherwise would be an insult to the young man's intelligence.

The rest of Lyra's frantic guard, all twenty of them, were waiting in the foyer of the manor. Sally, her maid was there also, wringing her hands. As soon as she saw Charlotte, she darted forward and pulled her aside, no doubt worried for her mistress. He left Charlotte to calm the distraught maid. He ignored them all for now.

James, with Joseph at his side, strode into the parlor to speak with the Middleton boys. It was information he needed now and quickly. There might still be time to give chase, have Lyra rescued before she reached the Ghost's camp.

Awaiting for him in the parlor were his own brother, Lieutenant Richard Wilkins and Lieutenant Wentworth, both leaders of Lyra's guard. The Middleton boys and the two new guards, Samuel Parks and Jack Bennet sat on the couches nursing broken noses. They were battered, beaten and bloody.

"What happened?" James demanded without preamble.

"There were too many of them," Michael Middleton said, his voice was muffled because of his broken nose. He wiped a large cloth across his face, to shift the drying blood.

"At least twenty," Arthur Middleton agreed. "They melted out from the trees like the Ghost himself! They were upon us before we knew it! They attacked us, held us back while they made off with Miss Mathan."

"We were lucky to get away with our lives!" Michael bemoaned and the two new guards nodded agreement. "Christ, they made a mess of us, that's for certain! I think my ribs are broken."

"Well, that tends to happen when you simply stand still and do nothing, Mr. Middleton," Charlotte said as she swept into the room, she had heard the explanation through the open doorway. Sally stood behind her, trembling.

"What are you talking about Mrs. Wilkins?" Arthur snapped. "You weren't there, we gave a up a good fight!"

"No," she said firmly. "You did not. James," Charlotte turned to her perplexed husband. "Miss Sally has informed me that when she saw Lyra straying further from the house without her cape, she darted to Lyra's room and took one from the closet, then set out after Lyra. She followed the men all the way to the boundary of the property, where she witnessed the rebel's coming out from the trees. She hid, for she was frightened," Charlotte turned to the maid and placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. "But she heard and saw it all."

The Middleton's fell silent, all four soldiers looked murderous.

"And what did you see, Sally?" Joseph took a menacing step forward, almost quivering with rage. And fear for his cousin. "What did you hear?"

"I heard... That is... I..." Sally gasped, to frightened to speak further.

"She heard the rebels exchanging pleasantries with Lyra's guard. There were six of them, not twenty. She heard Lyra accuse the Middleton's of treason and betrayal, saw one of the rebel's strike Lyra, before another one turned to the Middleton's and told them they had to 'make it look good'. Then Lyra's guard -"

"Lies!" Michael shouted. "We did what we could, we -"

He cut off as the remainder of Lyra's guard filed into the room. To a man, each one tense and ready for killing. Charlotte continued as though she had not been interrupted.

"Then the rebels began to beat the Middleton's and the other two. None of them lifted a finger to stop the beating. None of them denied betraying Lyra. It had been prearranged, the entire capture. The rebels had probably been camped out there, waiting the perfect opportunity to take Lyra. From what Miss Sally heard the rebels saying, these four were to return to the manor, for the rebels still had need of them here."

She stopped speaking and the room fell silent. The only sounds were the occupant's heavy, tense breathing. James studied the Middleton's and the other two. Truly studied them, searching for the truth. The men stared back, they knew they had been caught. Finally, James nodded.

"Seize them."

Everyone burst into action at once. Charlotte and Sally were shoved aside as Lyra's guard descended on the four traitors, who bellowed and attempted to flee. It was four against a score of men however, and as James strode to his wife to steady her and the maid both, the traitors where wrestled to the ground.

"Captain Simms," James said formally. "Take a detachment, follow the tracks. Wentworth, take a small unit and ride as hard as you can, fetch Tavington and Bordon back from the Fort at once."

::::::::::

Lyra was marched from the horses picket lines, a rebel on either side of her and more behind. She knew all of the men, Danvers, Dan Scott, Curly, Skunk and Colt.

She walked toward the huge camp docilely enough. There was no point in offering resistance, she would not get very far if she attempted to run and would probably be beaten by Danvers if she did try.

Her stomach churned with nerves and fear. They were taking her to the _Ghost_, the man who had sworn revenge against Tavington. The man who had promised he would take Lyra to his bed and get her with child as Tavington had done to Charlotte. The fear was not so much for herself but for William's baby growing within her.

She had always remembered Benjamin Martin as a kind person, one of the few men she would ever describe as such. The only others she had not been frightened to be near were Reverend Oliver and Gabriel Martin. Yes, Benjamin Martin hated Tavington - he had plenty of reason to hate the Butcher. But Lyra had never caused the man harm herself. Perhaps if he knew she was with child he would put aside this plan to force himself on her and treat her gently.

Nerves rifled through her - would he simply throw her to the ground? Would he try and seduce her? Dear Lord, would he be able to draw an orgasm from her? Her fiancé would never forgive her! But she had been so demanding lately, gripping William's buttocks to drive him in deeper for more, more - it was never enough for her these days. William had barely been able to keep up with her and the Ghost had promised he would make her enjoy it, just as Tavington had made Charlotte enjoy it.

As they strode through the camp, drawing closer to a large tent in the midst of far smaller tents, Lyra decided the best course of action would be to tell Benjamin she was already pregnant, which would put an end to his mad scheme.

Her sense of taste was heightened, as was her sense of smell. Right now, she almost fainted from the aroma of unwashed bodies and horse shit. There were other smells, wafting from the cook pots and her stomach growled. Christ, but she was hungry. Always hungry. And it had been a long ride from the plantation to Black Swamp.

Black Swamp. Lyra felt like laughing with incredulity. It astounded her, that they would return to Black Swamp. The audacity. It had paid off, however. William had not thought to search the area again.

Unfortunately, instead of heading directly for the cook pots, Danvers took her to a smaller tent not far from the large command tent.

He lifted the tent flap and ushered Lyra in.

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**_A/N - Sorry for the short chapter, I'll post the next chapter tomorrow so there is not too much wait. Keep in mind, though, that_****_ some of you might not like the next chapter. Rest assured, I will not have Lyra beaten or hurt - part of Benjamin's revenge is to make her submit to him the way Charlotte did to Tavington. _**

**_Smiley - I'm so glad you didn't see it coming. No matter how I wrote it I felt like it was too obvious, especially when I had them trailing further out from the manor house toward the edge of the property. As I'm sure you know, at the beginning of the movie, the Middleton's were Patriots but halfway through they host the ball for Cornwallis, showing that they had no qualms changing sides or courting the enemy. The real Middleton family had marriage ties to the Patriotic Rutledge's, one of the powerful political families of the time. And so I thought it would stand to reason for the Middleton boys in my story to be Patriot's, pretending the be Loyal and working on the inside... Thanks for your review!_**

**_:-)_**


	49. Chapter 49 - The Ghost

**Chapter 49 - The Ghost**

Lyra ducked beneath the canvas flap and was suddenly face to face with Colonel Benjamin Martin. Even sitting, his sheer size and presence encompassed the small confines of the single room tent. He was sitting on a wood back chair at his small desk, his fingers drumming the desktop. Lyra stopped short before him, their eyes met and locked, only a yard separating them.

"Well, well. the Butcher's whore..." He said coldly. He nodded curtly at Danvers, who withdrew from the tent.

"You know me as Miss Mathan I believe, Mr. Martin." Lyra said nervously. Perhaps a reminder that they had been friendly in more peaceful days past might sway him to be merciful.

"That I did," he fell silent and gazed past her, his eyes haunted.

"It's been a long time," Lyra said. Sensing she had caught him in a nostalgic mood, she pushed her advantage. "A year ago, I think. The last time I saw you was at one of Reverend Oliver's sermons. How is the Reverend?"

"Is that a subtle reminder that Oliver lives because of your intercession?" Martin asked, his cold eyes meeting hers again. "How many died because of the information you gave the Butcher?"

Lyra opened her mouth to plead her case, then snapped it closed again. She could not use being a Loyalist as her defense against this Patriot.

"How many farms did yo visit with the Green Dragoons? How many times did you say 'Patriot', and how many of those Patriots where taken? Those women were raped, Miss Mathan."

"I know," she said quietly.

"And yet you remain with him, with the Butcher. He killed my son. He killed my brother and he raped Charlotte - for no better reason than she was my fiancé at the time."

Lyra held his gaze steadily, trying hard to conceal her increasing fear. His eyes had changed, she could see kindness in their depths no longer. None. They were cold and hard, implacable with hatred. She knew at that moment that she could not tell him she was pregnant. Tell this man, who had suffered so much harm at her _fiancé's_ hand, that she was carrying the _Butcher's_ baby in the hope he would treat her kindly? Christ, what had she been thinking? He would probably cut the baby right out of her stomach!

"And here you are, bedding him," the Ghost continued, fury flaring over his face. "You knew he had done all of this and more to me and mine, and you continue to bed him. Continue to be his whore. And then there is Captain Bordon, who raped Anne Howard," he leaned forward intently, his expression sharpened when Lyra held her silence. "What, you show no surprise, Miss Mathan? Did you know that Bordon raped Anne?"

"I was told." Lyra admitted reluctantly as she studied his hard face. Finding no mercy there at all, she conceded there was no way out and began to mentally prepare herself for what was to come.

He was a big man, easily as large as William. William had man handled her as easily as he would a child, more than once. She had no hope of fighting Martin off her, and doing so would only risk hurting the baby.

"I remember you as a child," Benjamin said in an accusing tone. He rose from the chair and approached her, towering over her. "A young thing, always tagging along behind Anne."

She craned her head back to hold his gaze but remained resolutely silent.

"Anne was your friend, Lyra," he grated as he glared into her green eyes. "And yet you remain with these men, willingly. You call _them_ friends, now." He tossed is head in disgust. "What would your mother say?"

Lyra bristled, struggling to control her temper.

"My mother was a Loyalist like myself, Sir," she informed him in as calm a tone as she could muster. "She would feel herself divided from you now also."

"Is that all you can say?" He arched an eyebrow. "No, 'I feel terribly for Anne'? -"

"I _do_ feel terribly for Anne!" Lyra shot back, but Benjamin ignored her.

"Well, that makes what I am going to do quite a bit easier, Miss Mathan. Up until now I have been torn, you see. Reverend Oliver is constantly speaking out against my plans for you and I confess I was conflicted."

His blue eyes were as penetrating as William's. Why had she not noticed that before? Perhaps because she had never been on the receiving end of Benjamin Martin's fury before. And he was furious, she could sense it. She could always sense it, when a man was in a rage and was about to strike. His stance was tense, his face cold and hard. She could not give him cause to begin striking her, for she had no idea if he could control himself enough to stop.

"That makes what quite a bit easier, Mr. Martin?" She asked calmly. His eyes widened with surprise.

She _was_ calm, she realised, though she should have been quaking! It was then that she realised she had come to her decision. To allow the Ghost to do with her as he wished, in order to protect her baby. Just as she had with Thomas Smith, when he had come to her each evening. When she had done as he wished, she had not been hurt. Only now it was the Ghost who might hurt her and she had her baby to protect. She hoped like Hell that William understood and forgave her later, but for now she had decided her course of action.

"You said Sir, that it made what you are about to do quite a bit easier," she explained. "What is it that you are about to do?"

"Oh, I think you know," he smiled serenely. "Will you refuse me?"

"I will not _fight_ you, if that is what you are asking. I will never willingly _allow_ you, however. I would never _welcome_ you."

"No matter," his smile broadened. "I will only keep you in my bed until you miss your first mensies. I know you are quite regular, and I know you had your bleeding only a few days ago."

Lyra frowned, how could he know any of these things? Besides, she had missed two courses now...

"There are servants at the plantation, Lyra, who will gossip for a coin or two," he explained, reading the question in her eyes. "They sell information, even the strange information I desired. I wanted to be certain you were not already pregnant before I took you. I have had one of Wilkins slaves spy on you, and she told me there was blood on your sheets not two nights gone, therefore you could not possibly be pregnant."

"Very clever, Mr. Martin," Lyra breathed with relief. Thank the dear Lord! He could not possibly know that Sally slept with her while the Colonel was away. He could not know it was her maid who had had her mensies!

"So. You will _rape_ me for three weeks then?" She asked him in a confronting tone. "Or a little longer? To be sure your seed catches. What makes you think you will get me pregnant at all, when William has not so far?"

"Perhaps I am more of a man than '_William'_," Benjamin curled his lip.

"Judging by the baby Mrs. Wilkins bore him, and how much she enjoyed her experience with him, he was certainly man enough -"

Benjamin snarled. He curled his fingers into a tight fist and raised his arm threateningly. Lyra gasped and stumbled back several steps, her eyes wide with horror. Enraged though he was, he had the presence of mind to relax his hand, lower his arm back to his side. His point had been made, however, he could see it in Lyra's fearful eyes.

"I will show you which of us is the better man, Lyra," he said, his voice full of menace, he gripped her arm and hauled her bodily to his desk. "Bend over and brace yourself."

"No!" She yelled. "How could you do this? Your wife and my mother were close friends! I've known your family ever since we moved to the Santee! Why must you take this out on me?"

"Because he loves you! You dare to use our past history to sway me? Will you now speak of the times you came to Fresh Water to help care for the children after Elizabeth died? Will you speak of Thomas and how you helped him learn his letters? Should I treat you gently now because of those past kindnesses? No. Because you chose the Butcher over us, even after learning of his atrocities against me and mine. You knew he had killed Thomas!"

Breathing heavily, Lyra stared wide eyed at Benjamin.

"Will you make me force you, Miss Mathan?" He asked in a dangerous tone.

"_Would_ you force me, Mr. Martin?" She whispered.

"Without hesitation," he said coldly, and she knew that he meant it. "I suggest for your sake you do not fight me. It will go easier on us both and will be far less painful for you. Now! Bend - over - the - desk!"

Reminding herself of her resolve, to protect her baby by doing what he wished of her, Lyra swallowed hard and finally obeyed him. Her hands flat against the desk, she planted her feet and closed her eyes.

"Wise choice, Miss Mathan," Benjamin taunted her. Standing behind her, he shoved his breeches down enough to free his erection. "Oliver told me what Smith admitted doing to you. Beating you and all. You know what men are capable of."

She shuddered but made no protest when he began to raise her skirts.

The Ghost stood tall behind her, his heavy erection throbbing as his eyes roved over her bare backside, lingered on the marbled flesh of her buttocks. He touched the inside of her thighs almost tenderly, guiding her to part them. His fingers caressed the soft skin of her thighs, up and down slowly.

It felt too damned good, to Lyra's chagrin. She closed her eyes and tried to fight the feelings as his fingers drifted higher to cup her womanhood with the palm of his hand.

"You are ready, Lyra," he purred, seemingly pleased to find the wetness of her arousal.

_I'm always ready these days. For _**_William_**_. _She did not say the words aloud.

He pressed his palm up harder against her, rotating small circles, and Lyra tried - oh, how she tried - not to shudder. Breathing steadily, she tried to think of anything else that could stop the ever present rising warmth and tension.

Horrible big, weeping and puss filled boils. Cleaning up another person's sick. Edward's soiled swaddling. Her fury over the Middleton's brother's betrayal.

She felt the pleasure abate, but then he moved his hand around to her front. His fingers began to toy with her curls, then dipped between her folds to search for her quim. She forced herself to hold steady, resisting the urge to rock her pelvis. She bit down on her lip, trying to cause herself pain to take her mind off the pleasure of Benjamin torturing her flesh. It angered her, _infuriated_ her how easily she could fall to this. He had just been about to strike her! He would rape her! Take her away from William, fill her with his seed!

"Cease the slow seduction, Mr. Martin!" She shouted over her shoulder, shooting him a glare. "If you must do this, get it over with!"

"Eager, aren't you?" He taunted, never stopping his slow torture of her quim. His caught that hardened nub between his forefinger and thumb, gently tugging it. "I have bedded more women than you have had hot dinners. You are enjoying this Lyra, you can not pretend otherwise."

He bent over her to whisper in her ear, "I will know when you climax too, no point trying to hide that either." His hard cock pressed against her bare buttocks. "Christ, who knew what a little whore you were?"

_Hot little whore..._ She almost keened with despair as William's words came back to her from their very first time together. He had not said the words since that night. Now, it seemed fitting. For she was enjoying it, no matter how she tried to hide it. Her body was betraying her, as Charlotte's had under William's ministrations.

"Are you ready, little whore?" Benjamin said coaxingly in her ear. He took hold of his length to guide it inside her, teasing just at the entrance. "Do I have your permission?" He purred, knowing now that she wanted to be filled.

"Aren't you the Gentleman?" she muttered. "You know you do not."

"Ah, so obliging..." Bending his knees slightly, he pushed his pelvis forward and his length slipped inside her, filling her completely. Lyra stayed frozen beneath him, not moving. Barely breathing as the ache that had thus far only been relieved by Tavington, was relieved by another man.

A perverse part of her was curious to know, all of a sudden, if he could bring her to orgasm, if he was as capable and endowed as William. If not, she could laugh at him afterwards, taunt him with how superior her Colonel was. And how Charlotte, who had had both men also, was sure to agree.

But then he angled higher and Lyra could not stifle a gasp as he began to stroke in and out of her.

Shit.

She was soon breathing as raggedly as Benjamin, losing herself completely to the sensations building within her. Worse yet Benjamin knew it and he chuckled low in his throat.

"Faster, little whore?" He whispered tauntingly in her ear. Planting his hands on the desk on either side of hers, he swallowed and continued to taunt her, "or slower. Or should I stop now, pull out completely?"

She whimpered and Benjamin laughed again. "Faster, I think," he decided, and Lyra could not help but agree, though she said not a word. Not that she needed to, her panting told Benjamin everything he needed to know. His laughter and taunts died as he set to work. Now gripping her hips with both hands, he snapped his pelvis back and forth, striking the roof of her, filling her utterly and making her head spin. The sounds of their skin slapping and their pants filled the tent.

"Move with me, Lyra. It will feel so much better. I know you want to! Agh, by Christ!" He pounded faster, thrusting in a fluid but brutal rhythm.

"No," she despaired, shook her head frantically. "I will not. No - too much..."

"Too much what?" He said raggedly. "Am I hurting you?"

She shook her head again and gasped. She desperately wanted to join him, but just as desperately resisted the urge. It would be too much of a betrayal - it was bad enough she was enjoying it - she would not join in and give Martin something to taunt William with. She would not! And when her orgasm took her, as she now knew it must, she would hold her silence, not give away a single moan!

Benjamin swallowed, breathing raggedly. Right at a time when he wanted nothing more than to buck and pound, he forced himself to stop moving. A small part of him that he'd thought he had crushed, the small part that did actually care for the girl, began to assert itself. He did not withdraw from her, but he ceased all movement, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

"This must be done, Lyra," he explained in a fevered voice. "I will take what is his, I will fuck you until I get you with child. To hurt him. I will keep you here until he comes for you and then I will kill him. But I have no desire to hurt you. Girl, if you are in pain, I will stop."

Lyra frowned. Swallowing to get her voice under control she panted, "you say you will stop, but in the same breath that you will get me with child? Which is it?"

"I will be more gentle, is all," he assured her. "I am going at you pretty hard."

"Please," Lyra purred, "you have nothing on William." She laughed aloud, a musical chime, at the very idea. Christ, when her fiancé fucked her, she knew it for days.

"What is the matter with you?" Benjamin's cold voice cut through her thoughts. "Why would you provoke me so, now? Surely you must know the damage I can do you. I am holding myself _back_, Lyra."

Lyra sobered, also wondering what the Devil was the matter with her. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes.

When it became clear that she had nothing more to say, Benjamin began to move again, stroking back and forth, deeper, faster but not rough, not hard. It was enough for him. For now.

"Fuck," he muttered above her, picking up the pace. Lyra panted quietly, dropping her head almost to the desk, she arched her back still resisting the urge to buck.

"Faster?" He asked her, for the second time. Oh, god, she wanted to say yes, wanted... Oh... She tried holding her breath but it only came out as an explosive gasp a few moments later, followed by a low moan. "I'll take that as a yes," his smirked.

"Bastard," Lyra hissed. Benjamin laughed.

"Yes, lets create a bastard, Lyra. Come for me, I can feel how close you are."

Again she tossed her head in the negative but it was to no avail. Her body _was_ betraying her, even more so now. She was soon at her height and Benjamin's quick, hard strokes pushed her over the edge.

She thought she did fairly well, all things considered. Normally she writhed and moaned during climax, but she managed to hold her breath and barely a whisper escaped her lips. He could not know, there was no way he could know he had bought her to climax -

"Agh, Christ, I can feel it, I can feel you, God, you've gotten so tight now! Agh! The pulses!" He punched in and out of her frantically, then held himself still with a low groan, his cock twitching and his seed spurting deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing raggedly against her ear.

"You are heavy, Mr. Martin," Lyra's voice was cold and emotionless, but in truth she wanted to cry, to _howl! _For giving to the Ghost what she had only ever given to William.

"It is better this way, Lyra," his hateful voice murmured. He lifted his weight from her, withdrew his spent member from her slowly. She shoved her skirts down roughly and turned to face him with tears shining in her eyes. "Much better. Consider the alternative. You do not want me to beat you into submitting to me."

"No, I do not. Would you do that to me, truly?"

"I told you I would," he studied her for several moments, then nodded calmly. "I would not want to Lyra. That does not mean I wouldn't beat you if I had to."

He took his time buckling his breeches.

"There will be guards on this tent at all times, Lyra. Do not attempt to escape for it will only annoy me," he informed her, his voice cold and hard once more. "I will give you some few moments to recover. When I return we shall join the men for the evening meal."

Lyra said nothing as Martin left the tent. The enormity of what had just happened crashed over her, she collapsed in the chair and dropped her head in her arms on the desk. Weeping unabashedly, shame and guilt over her bodies betrayal. William could possibly forgive the rape itself, where most men would shun a ravaged woman she knew Tavington would not do that to her. But if he ever discovered she had found pleasure from it, it would destroy any future happiness they might have shared.

She imagined a life without her Colonel. A life without Edward as well, for surely she would never be allowed to see the boy again. Quite conscious of Tavington's cruel streak, she wondered if he would take her baby from her when it was born. She had made him wait so long for marriage, he might very well marry another woman to raise both his children.

Lyra stood on the brink of losing not only her beloved William, but Edward and the baby she was now carrying.

Benjamin's fault... He had forced her to submit, tortured her womanhood into feeling pleasure. She wiped her tears as fury began to well inside her, finding a target in Benjamin Martin.

::::::::::::::::

"Where should we keep them confined, James?" Richard asked his brother.

James was quiet for a few moments, considering.

"Tavington will want to question the traitors when he returns and such questioning tends to be... loud. I do not want Charlotte or the other women here to hear the interrogation. There is an abandoned farm not far from here, you know the one I mean - old Spencer's property?" Richard nodded gravely. "Take them there, keep them bound and heavily guarded."

"Christ, I do not want to be here when the Colonel returns, I don't envy you your rank, brother."

"No? I don't blame you. I am just glad I won't have to be the one to tell him - may God have mercy on poor Wentworth's soul."

"Surely he won't shoot the messenger?"

"Wentworth - and you for that matter - are two of the highest ranking in Miss Mathan's guard," James pointed out. "Tavington will see it as a failure on both your parts, for losing her and for not suspecting the Middleton's were traitors."

"Fuck." Richard muttered. "Who could have suspected? They have always been so solicitous of her! I thought Michael was in love with her for a while there! And Lyra... Shit, James." Richard's voice became anxious. "Its coming on to evening, she will be well within Martin's grasp now."

"He won't kill her," James assured his concerned brother, though he was not entirely certain of it himself.

"No, but he'll rape her, repeatedly. He is going to _rape_ her." Richard closed his eyes, then snapped them open, obviously plagued with visions of a very brutal attack on Lyra's person. "I've failed her," he said softly, his face twisted with anguish. James silently squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Her entire guard has failed her. They are all distressed, each one of them!"

"I know. There's nothing I can say to reassure you, Richard. We both know what's going to happen to her. And Charlotte told me..." He trailed off, Charlotte had given James the news in confidence, after all.

"What, James?" Richard prompted. "Please, tell me, what -"

"That Lyra is carrying Tavington's child."

"Ah, shit!" Richard lamented. "Christ, if they rough her too much she'll lose her baby!"

James nodded gravely.

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_**A/N - I hope this chapter wasn't too distasteful!**_

_**Lisette and Smiley - thanks for the review on the last chapter! **_


	50. Chapter 50 - The First Night

**Chapter 50 - The First Night**

A stew, made of rabbit, beef, potatoes, carrots. Other unidentifiable lumps floating in a thick gravy. Stale, hard bread to soak it up.

It was delicious, the best meal she had ever had. Spoon after spoon, Lyra could not eat it fast enough.

_I thought women were supposed to be sick in their first three months? _She thought for the hundredth time.

She glanced at Benjamin, the question ready on her lips - his wife had born him seven children after all. He would know what a woman went through better than any of the men sitting at the camp fire with her. Nevertheless, she could not ask him, she would not reveal she was already with child.

Lyra studied Benjamin while she ate and he studied her right back. His eyebrows were cocked with surprise, perhaps because of the way she shoveled the food into her mouth but she was too hungry to care.

She shifted her gaze to the surrounding rebels. Meeting Danvers gaze across the campfire, she shuddered and jerked her eyes away. The man had not taken his fevered eyes off of her since she had sat down, she could feel them on her even now. Feel the hate and rage. Most of the other rebels scowled at her but Danvers took it to a whole new level.

Still, some of the faces were not so angry, some did not glare - not at her anyway.

Curly and Skunk. Those two sat on either side of her on a tree log and took turns at glaring at Danvers. Those were the two who had spoken out for her all those months ago, when she was hiding with Tristan and Max in the thicket during the rebel's raid on the Collin's plantation.

Her ever present emotions asserted themselves and she bit back a sob of grief for Tristan, who had died protecting her.

Furthermore, Curly and Skunk had stopped Danvers from hitting her again, earlier in the day when they had taken her from Wilkins plantation. They had stayed by her side for the entire ride to Black Swamp. Perhaps they were her way out of this damned camp.

Her eyes sought the Patriot Colonel again.

Benjamin. What a puzzle. She remembered him as being kind, one of the few men from the area of Pembroke who had not stared at her as though they wished to throw her up against a wall, raise her skirts and plumb into her. He was a good father, had been a good husband. He was a good man! But here he was, ready to take her - with violence if need be, to get his child on her.

What happened to him? She tilted her head as she studied him, his cold eyes staring right back. His face was hard now, and far more lined than it ever was before. There were greys in his hair, his forty-three years where weighing heavily on him. His eyes... They never used to be so cold. Never used to hold so much grief.

And who had caused that grief? Lyra thought. William should not have killed Thomas. How different would things have been, without that? She would not be pregnant, captured, sitting on the log, shoveling the spoonfuls of casserole into her mouth.

Then again, Benjamin would not have become the Ghost at all. He would not have gathered the rebels, would not have taken Thomas Smith away from the farm house which eventually led to Tavington capturing Thomas and several other rebels. Smith would have been home the day Eleanor came to the farm with Arcam, he would have sent them on their way in short order. Hell, she probably would have already been married to him, by the time Eleanor and Arcam came for her.

Agh! Too many twists and turns, it was too much! Events had played out as they had and they could not be changed. Thomas Martin was dead, Lyra was free of Smith, and that was an end to it. Her thoughts turned again to her William and another wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm her, to pull her under.

She had made the right decision not to fight Benjamin Martin, she would do what she had to, to protect her baby. But by Christ she had never anticipated enjoying it! She shuddered and tried to push her guilt down, for fear that it might drive her mad.

Scraping her bowl with the last of the bread, she found she was still hungry.

"I want more," she said, holding her bowl out to Martin.

His eyebrows climbed his forehead.

"You just ate a bowl large enough to fill a grown man, little whore," Benjamin scoffed. "You do not need more."

"I want more," she insisted with a frown.

Dear Lord, she was _hungry_! Her baby needed what it needed, and right now, it was making her crave more food. How to get it? Benjamin would not give in, of that she was certain.

Unless...

"I need my strength, Ghost, if you are to have at me again."

Curly spluttered on his tea.

Benjamin quirked an eyebrow. "You've changed, Lyra. I remember a time when you were too scared to say boo to a goose."

"Yes, but Smith is dead now, isn't he? He was what made me so fearful. Do you know that he beat me one time, when I gazed at Gabriel for a little too long? A handsome boy, your son, I always admired him - he was so kind. Where is he?"

"Not here," he said shortly. "So. Thomas beat you over Gabriel?" His dubious tone annoyed her.

"Don't tell me you do not believe he beat and forced me, Mr. Martin. You said Reverend Oliver told you all about it."

"That he did." Benjamin's tone was speculative. "Do _you_ know that I approached Smith several times, to see about a match between you and Gabriel?"

"No, I didn't!" Lyra gasped. She had never heard this before - how pleased would have been back then? She had admired Gabriel from afar for years! "What did he say?"

"He put me off, each time I mentioned it. And then Gabriel told me he was in love with Anne Howard and wished to marry her, so I withdrew my request."

"A pity, that. How different would things have been? I would have been in Gabriel's bed, instead of yours. Don't you think its a little... Incestuous? What you are doing?"

Benjamin scoffed and ladled another scoop of stew into Lyra's bowl. "You are not my daughter, Lyra. Nor are you my daughter in law."

"No," Danvers curled his lip across from her. "You are the Butcher's whore," he spat. "And should be shared amongst us all."

Lyra said nothing, refusing to be intimidated by him. If that was to be her fate, so be it. They would not kill her, she was too valuable alive. She would deal with the rapes later, but for now - survival.

"Mr. Martin wants me to bear him a child, Mr. Danvers," she said finally. "How is he to know I carry _his_ bastard if you have all had a turn at raping me?"

"That will not happen, Miss Mathan," Curly said firmly.

Ah, yes... She _definitely_ had a supporter or two in camp. And Reverend Oliver too - where was he?

Curly and Danvers stared balefully at each other, and Lyra hid a smug smile as she ate her second bowl of stew.

_What is wrong with me! I should be quaking! Perhaps I am unhinged. I'll speak with William about putting me into a Sanitarium when I'm returned to him. _

While she was fearful and apprehensive, she simply could not find it within her to be as terrified as she knew her predicament warranted. Especially with Curly and Skunk sitting by her side glaring daggers at Danvers. Even Martin had told her he did not wish to _hurt_ her.

"So," Benjamin spoke up. "How is my former fiancé? The whore..."

"It seems every woman is a whore to you, Mr. Martin," Lyra said tartly around another mouth full of food.

"Only the women who welcome the Butcher to their beds," he replied mildly.

"Mrs. Wilkins is fine," she shot back in a taunting tone. "Enjoying married life _immensely_."

"Is she now?" His voice lowered, taking on dark edge.

"Hmm, did your little spy not tell you? I have the room next to theirs, and they are quite... active in there," she smiled innocently, then gulped hard at the hard expression on Benjamin's face, the murder in his eyes.

Lyra, wishing she would finally find the wisdom to be properly afraid rather than so damned foolhardy, fell silent.

"Speaking of spies," he said softly, his voice filled with fury and spite. "It must have come as quite a shock to you, discovering your ever faithful guard were not so faithful to you after all."

"Yes, it was not the most pleasant of moments," she replied just as softly, clearly aggrieved. "They were yours all this time. They could have bought me to you months ago."

"I'm a patient man, Miss Mathan, and the time was not right."

"Hmm, you wished to burn my plantation down first, and kill people in my employ."

He shrugged carelessly. "These things have a habit of getting out of hand," his tone held no apology at all, and it made Lyra furious.

"And was it you?" She hissed, and he raised his eyebrows in question. "Were you the one to kill Tristan, all those months ago?"

"No, it was not," he replied honestly, then he smiled sardonically, "that was Danvers."

Lyra gasped and turned her gaze to the rebel, laying back with a taunting small smile of his own, apparently at his ease. He tipped his cap to her and laughed.

"We are at war, Miss Mathan," Benjamin continued wisely. "And during times of war, soldiers die. It is the way of it."

"He died protecting me, as did Max Simpson." Lyra shot back. "Protecting me from _you_!"

"As was their duty," he shrugged. Lyra pursed her lips and shoved in another bite of her stew. Before she realised it, she was scraping her bowl, mopping up the gravy with the remaining bread.

She glanced at Benjamin with a demanding expression, and he shook his head with disgust.

"No more," he spat. "If you wish to be filled, I will oblige you now," he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet, marching her back toward his tent. She ignored Danvers' vicious laugh, sounding behind her.

:::::::::

Colonel Tavington, as tense and taut as a drawn arrow, thundered his horse up the lane leading to Wilkins manor. He dismounted at once, strode quickly into the house, his face as cold and hard as stone.

"Report," he said curtly as soon as he stood before Wilkins in the parlor.

"Sir," Wilkins snapped to attention, trying to hide his nerves. "Captain Simms led a patrol to follow the tracks, but he lost them after a few miles from the plantation. The rebels had doubled back and destroyed all trace of their passage. We have the four traitors under a strong guard, at an abandoned farm not far from here."

"Very good," Tavington said curtly. "Bordon, the questioning will begin first thing in the morning. I want to know where the Ghost is, how many men he has now, how well fortified the camp is, what other tasks these traitors were here to accomplish, besides taking Lyra. As much as you can glean from them, by whatever means necessary."

"Yes, Sir," Bordon answered smartly. He headed for the kitchen where he knew he would be able to find the implements he would need for the questioning. A poker from above the fireplace. The large, curved butchers knife - it would require sharpening. Hot red peppers that Wilkins had imported - they would be perfect for rubbing into the traitors wounds. He then went outside to the barn and found a branding iron with Wilkins sigil on it, used to identify his cattle.

Back in the house, Tavington had turned back to Wilkins. "Now, tell me everything that happened, I want every detail. And get Lyra's maid Sally, I will question her myself."

Tavington stood stock still, one arm looped behind his back, as Wilkins delivered his report. Shortly later Sally was bought into the parlor and she wept while giving her account of what had occurred. Tavington listened carefully, hoping to discover some detail the others missed, to no avail. He sent for Charlotte and forced her to answer questions about Benjamin Martin. He grilled her for at least an hour, but while the information she gave would perhaps prove useful later, it was not immediately helpful. She did not know where Benjamin was. What she told him of the Ghost did nothing to allay his fears for Lyra's welfare.

"Will he rape her?" Tavington asked finally, forthright.

Charlotte hesitated. If someone had posed her that question a year ago, she would have been outraged at the very idea. But Benjamin had changed so much in the last few months.

"Yes," she said simply. "I believe he will."

Tavington drew a sharp breath. Barely holding onto his composure he strode stiffly from the room. He stormed to his bed chamber were he paced back and forth, his thoughts and fears consuming him.

He imagined the Ghost holding Lyra down, shoving her skirts up around her waist and forcing her legs apart. He could not banish the vision of Martin thrusting in and out of Lyra as she lay pinned beneath him screaming for him to stop. Begging for mercy that would never come.

Edward, who had been sleeping soundly in his bassinet when Tavington came into the room, began to cry. Tavington's heavy pacing had disturbed the boy. Striding to the bassinet, he picked his son up and left the chamber.

"Mrs. Wilkins!" He snapped and banged on her bedchamber door next to his. Charlotte opened the door in her nightgown, Tavington looked past her and saw that Wilkins was already in bed. "Edward needs his mother." The Colonel said as he handed the baby into Charlotte's arms. The double meaning of his words was not lost on Charlotte, she knew Tavington was referring to Lyra when he placed her son into her arms.

"I will care for him until Lyra is returned to us," she promised.

"See that you do," he commanded, returning to his chamber. He sat on the edge of the bed he shared with Lyra, his thoughts again turning to what might be happening to her right at that very moment. The Ghost would not kill her, William tried to assure himself. She was far more valuable alive. But she would be raped repeatedly and could very well lose the baby. They would beat her, they would -

A convulsion shuddered through him.

They would pay. All of them. The traitors first, but all of those who had taken Lyra, who would hurt her, who would _rape_ her.

They would all pay.

The Ghost would _not_ come out of this unscathed.

:::::::::::

"Give in to it, little whore," Benjamin taunted as he lay alongside her, his fingers busy between her legs. Lyra had her head turned away from him, trying to remain still - resisting the urge to writhe. Her eyes squeezed shut tight, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her heart pounded.

It was as though his perverse need to make her climax, and her own need not to give in to him, heightened her pleasure even further.

"Hmmnnn," Lyra clamped her mouth shut, but it was too late. Benjamin chuckled, a low taunting laugh entirely at her expense. His fingers moved over her quim faster, torturing her flesh to unbearable heights.

"Tavington's whore," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

"Oh, oh yes, _Tavington_. _William_, oh... say his name again, agh... _William_."

Benjamin's fingers froze. "You are thinking of him?"

"Of course," Lyra panted, _her_ tone became taunting now. She bucked up against his frozen fingers. "Why did you stop?"

"Fucking little whore," he muttered. He jerked his hand away and mounted her, Lyra laughing all the while.

"Thats _'hot little whore'_ to you," she jeered.

"Christ, you suit the Butcher perfectly," he growled, taking hold of his cock and positioning himself.

"That I do, Ghost." She gasped as he entered her, gripped his buttocks and bucked frantically to drive him in further, unable to hide her pleasure from him.

Nevertheless, it was thoughts of _William_ thrusting into her, that heightened her pleasure and Lyra decided to let the Ghost know it. She would not allow Benjamin to think _he_ was the one she desired. A small protest, and probably not the smartest. Even still - she turned her face to his, brushed her lips against the shell of his ear. He shuddered with pleasure.

That is, until she whispered, "_William_."

Benjamin froze. Panting heavily, he ceased all movement and turned his head to face her. "If you say his name while I am inside you again, Lyra, I will beat you bloody. And then I'll give you to Danvers."

Lyra's taunting smile fled. She returned his gaze gravely, knowing he would do as he promised. She suddenly didn't feel so sure of herself or of her ability to bear being raped by the other rebels, knowing it would be painful, violent, brutal. And disastrous for her baby.

"Jealous?" She whispered with false bravado, though she swallowed hard and she knew he could read the fear in her eyes.

"You have no idea how much I despise him," Benjamin's voice dripped sex and hate. "My thirst to kill him... My thirst to hurt him... I know I can hurt him through you, Lyra. When ever I think of him, I have had to battle myself, have had to physically stop myself from hurting you. From stringing you up in a tree, leaving your body for him to find, just to see his face twist with the same grief he has made me feel. You are not as safe here as you seem to think, Lyra. Do you understand, now?

She nodded, her eyes huge, her face as white as a sheet. It was all the more terrifying that he did not yell while delivering this shocking speech. His voice was steady, determined, and murderous.

"Twice now you have provoked me, Lyra. Be warned now, do not do it again."

"I won't," she whispered.

"Very well," he began to move again. "Move with me, little whore."

This time, she did. Benjamin stroked in and out of her, and her thoughts turned to William. She imagined it was him thrusting inside her, pounding and filling her so completely. She did not dare say his name aloud, even as she shuddered and gasped her climax beneath the Ghost.

:::

Once he recovered from his climax, Benjamin withdrew from Lyra and dressed himself.

"You will sleep here, with me, little whore," he informed her coldly. "I will take you as often as I like, during the night, in the morning, throughout the day. For now, get some rest - believe me, you shall need it."

With that Benjamin strode from the tent.

Lyra remained on the cot, feeling wretched. She wondered if William knew of her capture yet, he must have done by now and she knew he would be worried sick. And here she was in his enemies bed, his enemies seed seeping from her. She curled onto her side, her eyes stinging with tears of guilt and self loathing. How could she - to feel pleasure at the Ghost's touch. She might not have had a choice in the matter, but to have felt pleasure...

It was a betrayal, pure and simple. If William ever discovered that horrible truth, he would spurn her!

Sobbing pitifully, sleep was a long time coming.

:::::::::::

**_A/N - Wow, Smiley - that is a good idea! I did not think of that - if she is with Benjamin for long enough and she 'misses' her period he would naturally think she was pregnant with his child! Tavington has to catch Benjamin before he can kill him - the traitors, however, are in Tavington's grasp!_**

**_Mwa-hahahaha :-)_**


	51. Chapter 51 - A Small Farmhouse

**Chapter 51 - A Small Farmhouse in a Beautiful Country**

A pitched scream coming from the small farmhouse drew Tavington's attention. The Colonel shared a disdainful glance with Wilkins, then headed directly for the house to see for himself how the questioning was going.

On that fateful day over a month ago, when the unknown rebel placed little Edward on Captain's Wilkins verandah, Tavington himself had instructed Lieutenant Wilkins, Lieutenant Wentworth and the two Middleton's to increase Lyra's guard with trustworthy men. His intent had been to recruit from the Green Dragoons, however. And so when Michael Middleton suggested adding the unknown Parks and Bennet, Tavington had had his reservations. Michael Middleton had been adamant that the men could be trusted, and as Tavington had been given no cause to believe Middleton a traitor, he had allowed it.

Now Tavington stared coldly down at the lifeless form of Park. The traitor had been bound to the table and Bordon had questioned him extensively. Arthur, Michael and Jack Bennet were still in the back room, under a heavy guard.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Bordon said, careful of Tavington's rage. "He died."

"Did you get anything from him?" The Colonel ground out.

Bordon shook his head.

With a quick flare of frustration, Tavington gripped the edge of the table, tilting it up and tossing the dead body off the side, it gave a sickening but satisfying 'thud' when it hit the floor.

"Bring me the other one!" He snapped as he let the table drop back down and stalked away, his body tight and heavy with pent up tension.

Michael Middleton was manhandled into the farmhouse's front room which served as the kitchen.

Face cold and hard, his pale eyes darted from Middleton's head to his toes and back up again.

"So," he said quietly. "All along. A Patriot."

Michael said nothing. Nothing he said would save him now, or his brother Arthur and Jack Bennet. The three of them were dead already. They had listened with mounting fear, to Park's tortured screams coming from the very next room.

Tavington walked idly around the table toward Michael, avoiding the dead body with studied indifference, apparently at his ease. Bordon was not fooled, however. The Colonel was always relaxed before killing. Deadly grace.

"Four traitors, amongst my own Dragoons," Tavington commented idly with a quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, Sir," Bordon replied.

"If the Ghost managed to get four spies into my own Dragoons, there might be more. You will perform a full investigation, Captain, as soon as we have returned to the plantation," Tavington's voice, still quiet, cold, deadly. He shifted his gaze toward Michael once more, his tone becoming beguiling. "Middleton. If you tell me where they took her, then on my honor I will make it quick."

He held Michael's gaze steadily, saw the boys eyelids twitch, saw his hesitation. His arms were held in the iron grip of two other Redcoats, he could not move, could not escape. Tavington pushed his advantage. Stepping closer, only a foot separated the pair and he lowered his voice to a mere whisper. "Come now, Michael. Surely you must know you are about to die. You have ridden with me for months now, have watched countless interrogations," he paused, held Michael's eyes pinned, letting the warning sink in. "Why don't you spare yourself that? Tell me where Lyra is, tell me where the Ghost is, and you will die quickly, with honor."

Michael hesitated, clearly considering his options and Tavington allowed himself a hint of a smile. Then Michael lurched forward and spat a disgusting green globule, into Tavington's eye. The Colonel curled his lip, already reaching into his pocket for his kerchief.

"I will not give up the Ghost, I won't!" Michael shouted. "Do your worst!"

The two Redcoats holding Michael hauled him forward, pinning him hard against the table.

Tavington wiped the spit from his eye, then curled his lip again and stared down at Michael coldly.

"I always do," he drawled. Then, suddenly brisk and businesslike, he snapped, "bring me his brother!"

Bordon waved at the two guards holding Michael, he was hauled to his feet again, shoved onto a hard wooden chair and bound tightly with ropes, while his brother Arthur was dragged from the room and thrown bodily to the table top.

"No!" Michael began to shout immediately seeing Tavington's intent. He would be forced to watch while the Butcher tortured his brother!

"Do my worst," Tavington smiled coldly. "And I shall. But not to you, not yet. Tell me what I wish to know, Michael."

Michael snapped his mouth shut, his eyes meeting Arthur's. Bordon grabbed a handful of Arthur's hair and viciously turned his face to the other side. It was too late however, Michael had read his brother's resolve.

They would say nothing, no matter what.

::::::::::

Michael wept, as Tavington gripped the side of the table, his face twisted with rage. With one swift jerk, he tilted the edge of the table and the body rolled off the side, hitting the floor with a thump. The third body to be so deposited. The Colonel paced the length of the table, his body taut with tension, he rolled his shoulders and turned to face Michael.

"Is that how you wish to die?" He asked coldly as he stalked closer to the young man. The Patriot. The Rebel. "In pain, in the stink of your own shit and piss?" He leaned down, caught the boys jaw with an iron grip. "Is it?" He shouted.

Michael gasped, his sobs pulled from him, uncontrollable. He had been forced to watch while first his brother, then his friend, were tortured slowly unto death.

"Tell me where she is!" Tavington bellowed and Michael recoiled as far as his bonds would allow.

The Colonel slapped Michael hard across the face, slapped him again, again, again. Michael was bent over himself, overbalanced, unable to topple from the chair because of the bonds.

"Where is she!" Tavington screamed with each slap. "You lost me my fiancé! You and those filthy rebels! She is gone, because of you!" Still screaming, slapping Michael to the floor, chair and all. The Patriot curled in on himself as much as he could, bellowing with pain and grief. And still Tavington slapped, leaning down and screaming, his face twisted, mad and unhinged. He began to kick the soldier, his boot catching the prone man in his stomach, forcing the wind from his lungs. He wheezed and struggled for breath and still Tavington kicked him with all the force in his body until his energy was spent.

He stopped suddenly, breathing heavily. The other Redcoats watched silently, nervously.

So. They have taken Lyra. And this boy would not tell him where she was. Benjamin would rape her, again and again, trying to get his seed to catch. But his lover was already pregnant. And in all the more danger for it. Tavington's child, his lover, his life - all in danger. And this rebel, this fucking dirty, filthy traitor would not tell him where she was!

_No. He will not. _

Tavington realized the truth of it as he stared down at the grunting and sobbing Michael. The enraged Colonel had done his worst, and the boy had not broken, even when his brother Arthur and then his friend Jack Bennet lay screaming, dying on the table in before him.

It was up to Tavington, now. And he would not get the information from this grunt. Pulling his dagger from its sheath, he leaned over Michael.

"No!" The soldier screamed, but it was too late. The Colonel had already decided. He jerked the blade back, stabbing it forward into Michael's chest, holding the boys gaze all the while. Still holding Michael's gaze until the boys eyes were glassy, his life drained away.

Tavington rose to his feet, a frigid calm coming over him.

He slowly turned to the Redcoats, to Bordon, all watching him with nerves and horror.

"We ride for the plantation, then the Fort, gather the entire British Legion."

They would pay. For taking Lyra, pay for the hurt they must be doing her that very moment. For the rape's to come, the rapes that had probably already occurred.

They would pay for unmanning him, for undermining his strength, his ability to protect her, with their worms, the spies that infected his ranks, infected Lyra's very guard. They would pay, for all of it.

"And then?" Bordon asked quietly.

"We will ride," Tavington said as he strode from the room. "For Pembroke."

:::::::::::::::::::::::

The days were passing slowly, _too_ slowly for Lyra.

Benjamin had been gone for almost the full day, scouting and doing what ever it was that rebels did. Lyra prowled the tent, stricken and wretched. Frustrated and bored.

Curly and Skunk stood watch on her tent, she could hear their voices, speaking to one another in soft tones.

Boredom. Who would have thought a captive could be bored? Fearful, yes. Terrified. Beaten. Abused. But bored? She tossed her head with frustration, there was not so much as a book to be read!

She had had a visit from both Reverend Oliver earlier, and from Gabriel Martin. Both men had looked distinctly uncomfortable in her presence, considering her predicament. They both knew Benjamin was forcing her to sleep on his cot, and Gabriel was too embarrassed to stay for more than a few moments.

Oliver had stayed for far longer, and had bought a deck of cards. They played a few rounds of Faro, though neither placed stakes on the outcome. Oliver because he was a Reverend, and Lyra because she _had_ no coins. Eventually duty called and Oliver left her alone once more. No one else came to visit her, and she was left to pace, and prowl. She tried to sleep but that it impossible, for she dreamed of William and she woke sobbing every time.

She did search through Benjamin Martin's desk, hoping to find information - she was certain William would be proud of her for thinking of it. But alas, the Ghost did not trust her enough to leave anything of a sensitive nature within her grasp. Finally, she heard the approach, the thunder of many horses entering the camp, Benjamin had returned. Anticipation warred with guilt and disgust.

How could she? What a traitor she was, to William - her fiancé! To couple with his enemy, and feel pleasure at his touch!

_Its the babe._

She had lost count of how many times she had thought that over the last few days, but it never comforted her, not even once.

Benjamin was calling out to someone beyond the tent and Lyra sat down on the cot, waiting, trying to appear indifferent. She could not let him know the depth of her tension. She took some small solace in knowing that no one beyond the tent could know of her depravity, of her abandon.

Guilty pleasures...

_No one needs to know..._ Lyra thought to herself. _Especially not William_. Benjamin knew, of course. She had long since stopped trying to conceal it from him, it only amused him and gave him fuel to taunt her. It only encouraged him to spend hours torturing her flesh to bring forth her moans, which made him laugh and taunt her all the more.

It was useless, hiding it from him..

"Everything alright? Is our captive well?"

She heard his voice just beyond the tent flap.

"Yes, Oliver came by, and Gabriel too. We had a bath drawn for Miss Mathan earlier -"

"A bath?"

Lyra could hear the stern displeasure in his voice.

"Have you forgotten she is a captive? We all make do with washing in the stream, but our captive is given a nice big bath?"

"It's hardly big," Lyra snapped, pitching her voice loud enough that he could hear her through the canvas walls. "A tiny thing it is. Why do you have to camp in this Godforsaken place?" She continued her ranting as he entered the tent. "The mosquitoes! I'm being eaten alive! Bloody swamps!" She spat.

He tilted his head to consider her, utterly perplexed.

She doubted she behaved like any other person he had ever held captive. But her moods were unstable due to her pregnancy - which he did not know about - and it angered her, made her rage with fury to feel the anticipation of his touch, knowing her need would soon be sated. He should not be able to ease her tension so effortlessly!

Being an older man of some forty something years, Martin was patient and calm even in the face of Lyra's constant tirades. He simply ignored her and began to toss his bags and pistols, his sword and other weapons, down in a corner of the tent as Lyra continued.

"Where have you been, anyway?" She snapped. What was taking him so long? She should be pinned to the cot by now, with his length stroking in and out of her, her legs wrapped around his waist!

"I am hardly going to tell you that," he said as he sat down at his desk and began to pour himself a whiskey.

A whiskey! Was he going to wile the evening away _drinking_? She tapped her foot, her impatience increasing. And still he studied her, still with at quizzical expression as though he was trying to solve a puzzle. She understood completely, he still had no idea she was with child, he could not know what caused her moods to shift, could not understand why she would snap and growl at him, her captor.

"Have you heard from William?" She asked tartly. "I've been here for days now! Is he organising some kind of ransom, an exchange?"

"For who?" He arched an eyebrow. "He has no Patriot hostages. Besides, you are far too valuable to give away lightly."

Lyra huffed and Benjamin took a sip from his glass.

"Wonderful," Lyra spat. "Now you're going to reek of liquor while your huffing and puffing away on top of me."

He tossed back the rest of his glass, swallowed the contents whole. "Come here, Lyra," a firm command as he placed his glass on the desk and began unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his breeches.

She stopped pacing instantly, a thrill shooting through her.

"Come now, am I going to have to come to you? Drag you back here?" his voice took on a dangerous edge.

_I should make him do exactly that! _Lyra thought. _I'm making it too easy for him, by far!_

Although, it _would_ mean putting the babe at risk. Men were too unpredictable and she if she attempted to resist him, she had no idea how far Benjamin would go in his 'coercing' of her. Telling herself it was to protect the babe, Lyra walked toward him stopping a foot or so away.

He took his time, pulling his erection free, then reached for her, lifting her skirts and guiding her to straddle him all at once. He held his erection, positioned himself with one hand and gripped her buttocks with his other, guiding her to lower herself down on his length.

He sighed as he entered her, now gripping her buttocks with both hands, he squeezed and massaged her with his fingers as he moved his pelvis up and down. She closed her eyes and sighed as well, her heart pounding and her head spinning to be filled, finally. Her thoughts turned to William and she imagined it was his length drilling inside her. She imagined him kneeling between her legs, his tongue flicking over her quim. Her face slackened with pleasure at the mere thought.

"Christ," Benjamin murmured. "I've been thinking about you all day."

Her eyes snapped open and she stared down at the Ghost with astonishment.

"_This_ all day," he amended quickly - too quickly. "I've been thinking about _this_ all day..."

She gazed at him, considering...

"I am not your lover, Benjamin," she said finally. "I am your captive."

"I know!" He said a little defensively and Lyra tilted her head with suspicion, wondering if he was perhaps becoming a little too fond of her. "Just forget I said anything, whore." He growled, gripped her buttocks almost painfully, and began to lift her up and down on his length.

All thought fled, Lyra gasped and grasped his shoulders, holding on as he pounded up into her and as she bore down on him. She closed her eyes again, her lips full and red, pleasure and tension mounting almost to breaking point. Not long now... not long. Her heart raced and she bit her lip and panted while he growled and grunted beneath her, both yearning toward that release, both striving...

There! Lyra threw back her head and bit back a wail, bit her lip in an attempt to keep her moans quiet - she did not want Curly and Skunk to hear her enjoying coupling with Benjamin. She had no doubt they knew exactly what was taking place in the tent they were guarding.

She floated in a haze of warmth and release, a flood that carried her. She could feel his cock twitch inside her, _he_ did not bother to muffle _his_ bellow of pleasure as his seed shot out of him, deep inside her. He held her still, grunting and panting, finally blowing out a loud sobbing gasp before dropping back against the back of the chair, spent.

Lyra stayed where she was, impaled on his length, calming from her climax. Finally, she lifted herself off him, wiped away his seed between her legs with a strip of clean linen and arranged her skirts just so.

"I'm hungry, Ghost," she tried to make her tone tart to cover her despair. She always despaired after her climaxes with this man. Benjamin snapped his eyes open.

"You're always fucking hungry," he muttered, and began stuffing himself back in his breeches. "Well, so am I."

He led the way from the tent, and they joined some of the men at one of the campfires. Skunk and Curly followed, Oliver was sitting beside Gabriel, who shot a look of disapproval at his father, and a concerned one at Lyra. Skunk and Curly, to cover their embarrassment at hearing Benjamin's coupling with Lyra, began to speak about anything and everything, trying to create a much wanted distraction.

Lyra let the conversation flow around her, feeling too wretched to care. She was handed a bowl of stew - another tasty gravy with beef and rabbit, and another heel of bread.

These rebels ate well, she mused. It surprised her. Hunting was plentiful in the swamps, but where did they get these vegetables? Carrots, potatoes... And the bread - where did they get _flour_ for crying out loud? And the other ingredients needed to make such?

"How do you get all this food, anyway?" She blurted, interrupting their conversation, she could not even recall what they had been speaking of.

"Ah, well, you know the Howards -"

"Another thing she does not need to know!" Benjamin snapped at Curly mid word. "Captive, remember?"

Lyra arched an eyebrow, her expression speculative.

"Forget it, Lyra. It is none of your concern," he continued firmly. "Just eat your damned dinner! And be grateful you have anything to eat at all!"

"Father!" Gabriel admonished. "There is no call for that."

Benjamin's expression darkened, his eyes narrowed and Lyra smiled at him brightly. It felt good to have supporters in camp! She turned to Gabriel.

"How is Miss Howard?" She shot Benjamin a provoking glance. "If I am allowed to ask..."

"Yes, you may ask after her," Gabriel replied. "We are married now, she is Mrs. Martin."

"Oh, no, truly? Congratulations! How wonderful for you both!" Gabriel seemed to relax a little, and began speaking quietly of the wedding, Oliver filling bits in here and there, as he was the one to hold the wedding ceremony.

None of them asked after her life with Tavington of course, it was a sore point and none of them wanted to broach such an unsavory subject.

Lyra was aware of Benjamin's eyes on her, she wondered if he was irritated that she could speak so warmly with his son, and be so well received by Gabriel and Oliver both. He eventually put an ending to the sociable gathering, when Lyra had finished her second plate of food, he announced it was time to retire for the evening. Gabriel blushed crimson, and shot his father another disapproving look, which Martin ignored. He turned his back on the group and led Lyra back to their tent.

:::

A/N - Hey Lisette, I'll say one thing - Tavington is not going to be happy when he learns she had pleasure from Benjamin! Thanks for reviewing, so pleased your enjoying it.

Smiley - I didn't go into the torture details, I thought it might be a bit unpleasant... :-) But he did kick the crap out of Michael!

:-)


	52. Chapter 52 - Massacre at Pembroke

**Chapter 52 - Massacre at Pembroke**

"Ah, sweet Lord above," Martin grunted. Lyra could not help but agree. She was on all fours on the floor of his tent facing his cot as if in prayer. She lifted her arms up to the side of the cot, resting herself on the edge, her head resting on her arms as Benjamin, on his knees also, pounded her from behind.

She was completely devoid of thought, merely embracing the sensation of him stroking in and out her. His hands gripped her waist, and he pulled her back and forth to meet his hard, fast rhythm.

Bliss.

She would feel guilty for it afterward, but that was later - right now, there was nothing but pure sensation.

Benjamin, panting above her, snaked one hand beneath her, his fingers searching for her quim within her folds. It made her head swim, and she moaned, trying to bear down against his fingers and back against his cock all at the same time.

"Right there, Lyra?" a taunting whisper. She ignored him, he knew that 'right there' was perfect. "Harder?"

She ignored that too, for he already knew the answer. He picked up the pace behind her, his pelvis snapping back and forward, while his fingers circled her quim, torturing that small bud of sensation until she thought she would die. Such a state of bliss, of heaven, of oblivion, she did not even realise it when she whispered it aloud, "Oh, dear Lord, I feel I will die!"

Benjamin chuckled above her. He stopped taunting her and concentrated on his pleasure. The tingle before the surge, he could feel it building at the base of his cock, growing stronger as it moved up his length to the tip of him, and he bellowed and punched in and out of her as it exploded. He held still, as he always did, as he came but Lyra was not sated, not yet.

"Move damn you!" She hissed with frustration, furious that he had stopped when she was so close.

"Christ you forget yourself!" he muttered and began to move for her, several long, slow strokes, punching forward at the last moment of each thrust to hit the canopy within her - he knew she liked that. "Captive... You - are - a - _captive_."

Lyra ignored him, she had that down to a fine art now. She began to pant and writhe, reaching out to grip the far side of the cot, her fingers grasping for a handle hold to brace herself as she bucked against him. He urged her toward the edge, his fingers on her quim circling hard and fast, and she finally groaned - low and quiet, barely a sound, a whisper, but he could feel her twitch inside around him, she arched her back and bore down against his fingers and he knew fully well that she had climaxed. She collapsed, half against the cot, half on the floor, recovering.

He had pulled out of her and was buckling his breeches as she dragged herself up onto the cot and climbed beneath the blankets with a beatific and satisfied expression.

Beatific... Yes, she was beautiful. The Butcher did not deserve her.

"The Butcher does not deserve you, Lyra," he voiced his thoughts. "Why do you stay with him?"

"Thats none of your concern," she said loftily as she burrowed within the blankets.

Benjamin pulled up his breeches. He had planned on leaving the tent to speak to Danvers but he found himself too tired and reluctant - Lyra looked so comfortable and warm, he had an overpowering urge to join her and question her more about Tavington. He pulled off his breeches once more and climbed beneath the blankets.

"Shuffle over," he said and Lyra turned onto her side and moved to the far edge of the slim cot. He curled against her and she shot him a look of surprise, which deepened when he placed his arm across her body, over her waist.

"What?" He challenged. "It's cold."

They had shared the cot for several nights by now, but he had not tried to be intimate before. They had not even kissed, which suited Lyra just fine. She was not certain what she would do if he tried to kiss her, if she would refuse him regardless of the consequences. All she knew what that she had to draw the line somewhere and was grateful that he had not tried so far.

And this, what he was doing now, was a little too intimate for her comfort.

Oh, their bodies had touched when they lay side by side after coupling before. She was forced to sleep on the narrow cot with him and there had been no help for it. But he had never intentionally attempted to '_snuggle_' her before.

His fingers began to trace slow circles across her stomach and Lyra panicked. Only a few days previous, before her capture, Tavington had finally been able to discern the swell of her stomach. Lyra was fearful now that Benjamin would feel that swell and realise she was pregnant.

"What are you doing, Benjamin?" She asked coldly and rolled onto her back, trying to make herself... _flatter_.

"Nothing," he murmured. He folded his arm beneath his head, his other hand still tracing her smooth skin. It was not an easy thing for him, having a lovely creature like Lyra in his bed. He was just discovering he was no rapist, and if it had not been for her instant co-operation be would not have had the stomach to hold her down and force her. He was fond of the girl, hell - he always had been.

Lyra however, obviously did not share his fond sentiments.

"We are not lovers!" She snapped and tried to pull away from him, though there was only so far she could go. He drew his hand from her stomach with a heavy sigh.

He did not want to be intimate with Tavington's whore anyway, he reasoned. She was there for him to roger, until he got a child on her. He imagined returning Lyra to Tavington, her belly swelling with Benjamin's bastard, imagined the look on the Butcher's face.

Unfortunately, his revenge did not bring him the satisfaction it had before.

He felt no mercy for _Tavington_ - hell, the more pain he could cause the Butcher, the better! But he did feel mercy for Lyra. Would the English Colonel send her away from him? End his engagement? All to the good, if it bought Tavington pain. But it would undoubtedly bring Lyra pain, and shame as well. Benjamin found the thought a heavy one.

He fell asleep easily, a soldier can always doze no matter the circumstances and though his thoughts weighed heavily, he was exhausted and sated after coupling with Lyra. He was just drifting into a deeper sleep when a sound, and a movement beside him dragged him to full wakefulness again.

The noise and the movement, he discovered, was Lyra - she lay weeping on the cot beside him. Feeling pity for the girl, he took her into his arms to comfort her.

That is, he _tried_ to take her into his arms to comfort her.

"Don't touch me!" She gasped and twisted free of him. "It's all your fault! You took me from him and I shame myself every time we... We..." She gulped on her words and began to weep in earnest.

"Every time we couple and I bring you to climax?" He finished for her. "I will fight him with whatever weapons I can Lyra. He was foolish enough to lose you, you're mine now, for as long as I want you to be," he said firmly, stifling his pity. Lyra, still sobbing, sat up and huddled in on herself, desolate. "You won't accept comfort from me?" He asked her, though he already knew what her answer would be.

"Can't you sleep elsewhere?" She cried. "Is it not enough, the coupling?"

"This is my cot, Lyra," he said, though he rose and began to dress. "I have to see Danvers anyway -"

"Yes, go see the rabid dog," she spat angrily. Danvers was getting worse by the day and Lyra feared it was only a matter of time before he attacked her. "Sleep in his tent -"

"The Hell I will! Sleep while you can Lyra, I'll be waking you to please me when I return," he said darkly, his tone filled with threat, then he ducked out of the tent, leaving her to curl onto her side and cry herself to sleep.

::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Colonel Tavington wishes to address the village," Wilkins called repeatedly as the other Green Dragoons herded the good denizens of Pembroke toward their little church.

The passersby cast fearful glances at the hard faced Colonel sitting astride his mount, gazing down at them coldly from the high vantage of his saddle. Some of them shivered - those of them who knew the Colonel's fiancé had been abducted by Benjamin Martin. One such man clutched his wife hand, fearful that they had become the target of the Colonel's retaliation.

Apparently at his ease, Tavington watched them all impassively. His eyes were as cold and hard as the rest of him, the blind rage which held him in its grip as he killed Michael Middleton, was now tempered down to implacable determination.

He was a cocked pistol, focused on a single target now. Finding Lyra and the Ghost. Finding one, he would find the other. These rebels whom he gazed down upon with cool detachment, knew the location of the militia's camp.

And they would tell him.

Ordinary citizens - husbands, wives, children and the elderly - none of them soldiers. None of them would be able to stand up to the rigorous torture he had inflicted on the four traitors. At least one of these would break under the strain of fear, of terror.

In the next ten minutes, he would finally have his answer and he would finally be able to act.

And still the denizens continued into the church, some leading children by the hand. Tavington did not care, did not give the fate of the children a second thought. These people were all traitors, they had failed in their duty to the Crown. They had harbored rebels, kept knowledge of their location safe.

Captain Wilkins approached him.

"I believe that is all of them, Sir."

"Have you checked the houses, the stores? Is anyone hiding?" Tavington's voice was soft and steady. Most people would find the task he was about to perform abhorrent. Not Tavington - he had been pushed too far by these rebels and he had no mercy for them whatsoever.

"None that I know of, Sir. And yes, we have checked."

"Very good," the Colonel nodded curtly and spurred his horse forward toward the church. Without bothering to dismount, he guided the horse up the steps into the church itself.

He stopped abruptly amidst the shocked assemblage. The denizens of Pembroke gasped and cowered with fear as his large brown charger stomped and stamped before them. The Colonel gazed coolly down at them and when his eyes feel on Miss Anne Howard, he gave her a ghost of a smile. She recoiled, pressing close to her mother, who wrapped the girl in her arms.

Ignoring her for the moment, he turned his gaze to the Assemblage and they fell silent, waiting for him to speak. He removed his helmet, tucked it under his arm, then finally addressed them.

"This town has given aid to Benjamin Martin and his rebels," his soft voice was chill, his face stone. "I wish to know his whereabouts. So. Anyone who comes forward, _may_ be forgiven their treason."

His eyes searched the throng calmly, giving them time to approach him.

None did.

"Very well," he said crisply. Twisting his mount to leave he continued, "you had your chance."

"Wait!"

Tavington turned back calmly as a Colonial man rushed forward.

"This man gives Benjamin Martin and his men supplies," his voice was shaky with panic, and his hand pointed to Mr. Howard, the father of the woman Bordon had raped.

"Quiet!" Howard growled.

"He brings them to Black Swamp!" The Colonial man continued.

"He's a liar!" Miss Anne Howard shouted.

"They are in the marsh!" he continued, despite the Howard's trying to shush him.

Tavington smiled with coldly.

_So. The wily old bastard returned to Black Swamp... I should have known. _It was a bitter thought, he could have had Lyra safely away days ago!

"This man here?" Tavington nodded rigidly toward Peter Howard.

"Yes, Sir! His daughter, she just married Gabriel Martin."

"Did she now?" He drawled, his gaze shifting to Mrs. Anne Howard Martin. "Congratulations," he taunted and smirked suggestively, his eyes lingered on her swelling stomach. The baby within could not possibly be Bordon's but his insolent look had the desired effect, Anne's eyes glittered with indignation, though she was still too fearful to unleash her sharp tongue. He considered her for some moments, an idea forming in his mind...

No. He dismissed it at once. She had already been raped and he needed to be away immediately if he was to make it to Black Swamp in time to rescue Lyra before nightfall. As it was, he would need to confer with his Captains regarding a battle plan. The Infantry of the British Legion would need to begin their march at once, to be in place near to the Swamp before nightfall.

He would not waste another moment on Mrs. Martin. Pregnant or not, her fate would be the same as the rest of the assemblage.

All of this flashed through his mind in a heartbeat and he returned his gaze to the Colonial informant.

"Black Swamp, you say?" The Colonel drawled.

"Yes, Sir!"

"By the Old Spanish Mission," his voice dropped to a threatening whisper. His eyes met Anne Howard's, hers were filled with horror. "Thank you very much."

He replaced his helmet and gave the assemblage one last look of disgust.

"Shut the doors," he commanded quietly, then he turned his horse and led the charger back outside.

"But, you said... We'd be forgiven our treason!" The Colonial man darted forward, anxiously.

"And indeed you may!" Tavington called out, turning to face him. He continued in a deadly tone. "But that's between you and God."

The doors slammed shut before him and he guided the horse back down the steps.

"Black Swamp, by the Old Spanish Mission," he said as he drew alongside Bordon.

"Christ, you must be joking!" The Captain blurted. "No, it can't be true."

"I believe it is," Tavington countered. "The Howard's have been supplying them, according to a rebel inside the church. And as his store is right here in Pembroke, it stands to reason that Martin is indeed close by, in Black Swamp. We will be in position and ready to raid their camp by this evening!"

"And Martin? Will you capture him or -"

"No," Tavington growled. "It is time to end this - he will not survive the night."

"Sir," Wilkins called as he drew closer and Tavington pulled his mind back to the matter at hand. "The town is ready to be fired on your order."

"The town?" Tavington asked, startled. Then he scoffed softly and though he wore a hint of a smile, his eyes were ice, "burn the church."

:::

Bordon watched dumbfounded, as Captain Wilkins struggled with his orders. Tavington had not divulged this part of his plan!

"There is no honor in this," Wilkins argued, still shocked to his core.

Tavington tensed. He eased his horse closer and focused his gaze on Wilkins with deadly intent.

"Didn't you say, that all those who stood against England deserved to die a traitors death?" He asked in his quiet drawl. Wilkins hesitated and the Colonel's tone became dangerous, his very expression held threat. "Burn - the church - _Captain_." He held Wilkins gaze intently for another moment, before turning his horse.

Bordon adopted an impassive expression, as soon as Tavington turned toward him and as he rode past. Wilkins hesitated, still struggling. He cast one last glance at Tavington, who had turned back. The Colonel tilted his head, silently prompting the other man to continue.

As Captain Bordon watched, Wilkins threw a lit firebrand to the roof of the church, and other Green Dragoons followed suit. It was not long before the screams of panic could be heard from within.

Wilkins approached the Colonel, horrified. Stricken. Broken.

"The honor is found in the end, not in the means," Tavington sniffed, his abrupt tone meant to be reassuring. "This will be forgotten. Bordon?"

Captain Bordon, his face a mask despite the massacre playing out before his eyes, turned his horse to follow.


	53. Chapter 53 - Gabriel's Rage

**_A/N: Hi everyone! I thought I better explain what I've done with this chapter. I've made some huge changes to the Pembroke church scene, which took the word count for the chapter to over 5,000. I don't like doing such long chapters and so I've broken it up, it ends now where Bordon follows Tavington, and of course this latest chapter begins with Lyra and Benjamin, and Ben's attempted marriage plan. It continues on though, so just skip that first part if you want. I know it means you are not getting a fully new chapter - but the next chapter will be up tomorrow. I hope. _**

**_I changed the Pembroke scene because, as Bain pointed out in her review, she would have liked to have seen more of Tavington's reactions. Now, I always write way ahead my stories, and when I get to the current chapter I revise it before posting it up. _**

**_I re-read the Pembroke scene and, judging by the embarrassing errors, I do not think I revised the scene at all! Sorry about that... Anyway, I've revised and added to it, so feel free to have a look! A seriously huge thanks to Bain Sidhe for her input! :-)_**

::::::::::::::

**Chapter 53 - A Marriage Proposal & Gabriel's Rage**

"It's raining," Lyra complained. She had recovered much of her equilibrium, especially after having such a goodnight sleep. Benjamin had not woken her during the night as he had threatened, he did not mount her again until the morning.

"Quite obviously," Benjamin replied, the dark clouds overhead had finally broken, the deluge struck the tent, already causing little muddy rivers outside.

"But that means you won't going scouting!" She whirled away from the tent flap and tapped her foot with frustration.

"No, you are stuck with me, I'm afraid." He could not quite keep the amusement from his tone.

"Christ, Ghost. You have been at me for four days! Enough! If your seed has not taken now, it will not! I need a rest!"

"No. I will 'keep at you' until you miss your next bleeding," he turned from the desk to regard her, standing over him, her hands firmly planted on her hips. "Or until the Butcher comes for you, and then I shall kill him."

"So you say," she scoffed. "I personally think he is going to kill you, Ghost. Slowly, painfully."

"You think so, do you?"

"Do you have any idea how alike the two of you are?"

"Lyra," his amusement fled, his voice filled with warning.

"Well, you are! Christ, no wonder neither of you has been able to get a jump on the other, not to any great extent. You are both circling each other, a little dance that is bringing pain to all the people you care about. Nothing will be resolved between you until you face each other, one on one."

"Fascinating," he muttered, annoyed because he knew she was absolutely right.

"You should offer to duel him," she said tartly as she ventured closer to where he sat.

"A duel?" He quirked his eyebrows, amused again.

"Yes. Just between the two of you. That way, no one else will get hurt when he kills you."

"I will not let you bait me, Lyra." Benjamin scoffed. She was always pushing him, baiting him, trying to get his anger to rise. Though he could not understand it, she was a captive, for Christ's sake! And her moods - who would have guessed she was such a fiery thing?

"No? I believe you already know the truth, that he is superior to you -"

"I believe you are defending your lover tooth and nail, because you feel guilty and wretched," he told her firmly. "You have enjoyed it, each time I've fucked you."

Lyra tightened her lips.

"I saw how excited you were, when I returned from scouting yesterday. Oh, you tried to hide it, but I saw the gleam in your eye. You stamped your feet and hurled abuse at me, but that is all to cover how shamed you are for enjoying it."

"That is a lie! You can't truly believe -"

"We both know its true." He cut her off. "Come now, I am more twice your age, Lyra. With age, comes great wisdom, doesn't it?"

"So I'm told," she muttered. "I've yet to see any evidence of that!"

"You talk too much, Lyra, come and put your beautiful mouth to good use," he began to unbuckle his breeches and Lyra's eyes widened with horror. He had not coaxed her to do it before, but she had been expecting it.

"No. I will not."

"No?" His cock was pulled free, already hard, angry, waiting. "You know that your Butcher made Charlotte do it to him. She enjoyed it, though, according to my son who was forced to watch from his place of concealment. Perhaps you will enjoy it too, Lyra."

"I will not do it." She refused to lower her eyes off his, refused to look at his lap, to the weapon that had drawn forth so many climaxes. Her heart already beginning to pound, she swallowed hard against the ache building.

"You will," he commanded coldly. "Danvers did not ride out this morning, he is still in camp."

"You threaten me with him!" Lyra raised her voice. "You are nothing but a toothless old bastard, if you have to rely on the most insane of your men to threaten me."

"Shall I call for him?" Again not rising to the bait.

Benjamin could hurt her, if he desired, and Lyra knew it. Danvers however... He _was_ almost a rabid wolf. Chomping at the bit to drag Lyra into his own tent and fuck her senseless. Benjamin had been forced to keep Curly and Skunk on the tent to guard Lyra when Benjamin was out scouting, not in case _she_ escaped, but to protect her from Danvers.

"No need," she growled her reply, and lowered herself to her knees before him. She began to torment him at once, her soft fingers wrapping around his throbbing length.

"He's taught you well," Benjamin breathed, as Lyra worked him with her hand. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Come quickly, then, will you?" Lyra spat with derision.

Her words did not bother him, he had grown used to her moods over the last few days. She became at her most angry and provoking when they were about to couple, for she knew she could not keep her orgasms at bay. She relished every second of their coupling, and it made her surly. Benjamin smiled and shrugged, his eyes still closed as he enjoyed the sensation of her fingers stroking him. And in the next heartbeat, her lips were on him. The Ghost grunted with pleasure as Lyra began to suckle him, he wrapped his fingers through her hair as she slid her mouth up and down his cock, he shifted on his seat restlessly and shuddered as she worked him.

"Harder," he ordered harshly, and she complied, increasing the pressure of her sucks. It drove him wild. Drove him to madness. He thrust his hips up, forcing himself deeper into her mouth and she moaned. His eyes flew open, and was almost undone by the sight before him, Tavington's beautiful young lover, on her knees, sucking him, the Ghost, with an expression of ecstasy on her face.

"Sweet God in heaven!" Benjamin gasped, it was difficult to breathe, difficult to think. Her mouth, so hot, her tongue, such pleasure! "Lyra... Ah, Christ."

Her tongue traced the underside of his cock, which twitched, almost about to come.

"Stop... Agh, stop now. Come, sit astride me," he pulled his member from her mouth and was about to pull her to her feet to sit across his lap. But the sight of her glazed eyes stopped him. His breath caught, he stared down at her - still on her knees before him. She was breathing heavily, panting, her lips moist, inviting. He felt a sudden need, a sudden drive, to kiss her. He had not done it so far, he had not kissed a woman since before he broke his engagement to Charlotte. He tried to kiss Lyra now. Lowering his face to hers, he tried to catch those moist plump lips with his, but she jerked away, alarmed.

"No!" She fell back on her rump and stared up at him accusingly. "You will not kiss me! I'd rather be raped by Danvers!"

"Christ Lyra! Its just a kiss! You sucked me, for fucks sake! I've lost count of the times you've orgasmed with me!"

"No Benjamin. You will not kiss me."

"Charlotte kissed Tavington!"

"I do not care," she rose to her feet, dusted her skirts, before lifting them to straddle his lap. She took hold of his substantial length, guiding it inside her, impaling herself with a sigh. "Oh, God..." A whisper.

"Quite." Benjamin murmured his agreement. It felt good, too fucking good. She rocked against him, up and down, all around. "Come Lyra, let me -" He leaned in again, but she shook her head violently and buried her face in his shoulder.

"No. Be satisfied you do not have to rape me, Benjamin," she whispered against his neck.

"Fine," he muttered in defeat.

Lyra, sensing he would not try again, lifted her head from his shoulder. Even that had been too intimate for her liking, William's was the only shoulder she wished to rest her head against. His were the only lips she wanted pressed against hers. She thought of her lover as she rode Benjamin, imagined it was his fingers gripping her waist, guiding her up and down, his grunts that sounded his pleasure, William's hot breath, that she could feel against her bosom.

"Oh, God," she wailed, writhing now, her eyes closed, her lips parted. She was on the edge once more, and with only a few more thrusts she was pushed over, into the sweet waves, the heat flooding through her. Her back arched and she held her breath, holding back her moans as she always did with Martin.

Benjamin breathed raggedly, his unblinking eyes on her face.

"You know... I'm going to... tell him... Don't you?" he panted. Christ, but she was a wonderful thing to be inside of.

"Tell him?" She said with a frown, her brow coated with a film of sweat.

"How much you enjoy it. I will tell him how often we coupled, and how much you enjoyed it."

"Benjamin..." her beautiful face twisted with anguish. "Please... don't do that. Why would you do that?"

"To hurt him. Which is why you are here, remember? I will tell him how abandoned you become when I am stroking inside you, how wet, how you pulse around my cock when you come. Even how excited you become when I return to you in the evenings."

"No.." She whimpered. "He'll never forgive me," a small voice, pleading. "Please, Benjamin, if you have any mercy at all, please don't -"

"Mercy?" he arched an eyebrow. "I have some little left, I admit. You have not been given to Danvers, have you? Or any of the others. The Butcher has to hurt, Lyra, he has to pay."

Lyra began to cry, great choking sobs as she lifted off of him and stumbled to stand by the cot.

"You will really tell him?" She managed through her weeping.

"Yes," he began buckling his breeches. "The very next time I meet with him, Lyra."

She sat down heavily on the edge of the cot and he came to stand before her.

"He has taken everything from me, Lyra. There is nothing I can take from him, except for you. And so, when he refuses to take you back, you may remain with me. You will be carrying my child - I would never spurn one of my own. I am an old widow, but you enjoy being in my bed well enough, and I certainly enjoy having you there. You and I will marry."

She shook her head, unable to believe her ears.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you? It would be the ultimate revenge!" She accused him wretchedly. "Not only that I enjoyed coupling with you, but that I would be your wife?"

Benjamin smiled and sighed with satisfaction. "That it would. He loves you dearly - I know of nothing else in this world that he loves. But I will be the one who gets to marry you."

"No," she shook her head again and her voice grew harsh. "I will not allow it. If he refuses to take me back, so be it. I will not remain with you, not willingly. And I will not marry you - Reverend Oliver will not perform the ceremony until I give consent and that I will not do. I am sorry, Ghost, but this latest plan of yours will never draw breath. When this is done, I will leave, to Charles Town, to William, to who knows where? But not to you."

Benjamin stared down at her coldly.

"Fine. Have it your way. It will still hurt him, if I am able to pull the two of you apart."

::::::::::::::::

Lyra sat on the cot for some time, horrified, fearful of William's reaction when he learned of the pleasures she had felt in the Ghost's bed.

A short while ago the Ghost had ventured from the tent, no doubt leaving her in peace. She heard shouting beyond the canvas walls but Lyra ignored it, too forlorn to care overly much for the rebels who were returning to camp from scouting and raiding.

The tent flap jerked aside and Lyra glanced up, expecting it to be Benjamin.

It was Gabriel.

She was about to greet him, but the words stuck in her throat. Gabriel looked deranged. His handsome face a thunderhead. He approached her slowly, his eyes chips of fury, his mouth set tight.

Lyra had never expected to sense violence in Gabriel and it shocked her utterly to sense it now. She rose warily and took several steps away from him. He had never given her reason to be fearful of him, and he was one of her few supporters in camp!

Wasn't he?

No, not now. Far from it.

"Gabriel, what is it?" She asked, her voice shaking more than a little.

"The Butcher," he managed to hiss. He was utterly enraged, Lyra could feel it coming off him in waves.

"What, Gabriel?" She asked quietly, trying to keep calm.

"The Butcher..." he said again, his face stone, his eyes a horror. He took another step toward her. He seemed positively unhinged but at the same time, steady and implacable. "The Butcher - your fiancé - will pay."

Lyra felt the blood drain from her face.

What had William done? What terrible thing? What -

Before she could ask, or even think to ask, Gabriel was upon her.

"He must pay!" He shouted he pulled back his clenched fist and punched her. A white hot flash of pain flared across her cheek and Lyra was on the floor, screaming.

"Benjamin!" He was the first person she thought to scream out for. "Benjamin! Christ, help!"

"My father will not help you! The Butcher must pay!" The deranged Gabriel gripped the front of her bodice and Lyra twisted in his grip as much as his hold on her would allow, but his fist came crashing down again, white hot pain searing her jaw. With the taste of blood in her mouth, Lyra curled into a ball on the floor. She had the presence of mind to curl into the fetal position, knees drawn to her chest to protect the baby, as Gabriel reined down blows upon her arms, her back, her rump. She sobbed and begged to no avail.

Her hair was gripped painfully, her head wrenched back, his face blazed above hers and another punch sent her into darkness.

:::::::

"Stop!" Benjamin roared. "Gabriel! _Stop_!"

It took three of them - Benjamin, Curly and Skunk, to drag the enraged Gabriel off Lyra. The girl was a mess, blood and bruises, her white hair matted red.

"Christ," Benjamin muttered as he checked the unconscious girl. At least she was still alive. "Son..." He shook his head, shocked to the core.

"She's dead! Burned alive, the Butcher_ burned her alive_! The entire village, her parents! Anne... Oh, my God, my _wife_! My _child_!"

Gabriel collapsed to his knees and retched right there on the floor of the tent. Benjamin kneeled down beside his sone and drew him into his arms.

"Son..." he had no idea what else to say. His own grief welled within, stricken speechless with this latest loss.

Gabriel's body shuddered in his arms once, then stilled.

"Son?" Benjamin ventured.

"He must pay, Papa," Gabriel said firmly, with deadly intent. He glanced up at his father, tears leaving tracks in the dirt on his cheeks.

"We can't - I will not kill Lyra. She might be carrying my child, by now."

Gabriel cast a glance at the unconscious girl - the girl he had attacked himself.

"Then Tavington must pay with his _own_ blood," he said, his voice implacable. "He must be killed."

"That he must, son." Benjamin agreed. Gabriel lurched to his feet, and after a long, searching gaze, turned and left the tent.

Benjamin turned to Lyra, picked her up and placed her on the cot.

"Is she alright?" Skunk asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I don't know," Benjamin sighed. "Lyra?" he called and shook her shoulder. "She's out cold."

Curly and Skunk exchanged a glance, while Benjamin felt her head gently, checking for damage.

"The men will be out for blood now, not just Gabriel," Curly said carefully. "She is not safe here, Ben."

"I know," Benjamin could feel no soft spots that would indicate a cracked skull. "The two of you will keep guard on her night and day," he said.

No, her skull was intact but Christ, she was a mess. He fetched some water and a cloth, began dabbing her face and hair, cleaning away the blood. He winced to see the bruises already forming, along her jaw. There would be no coupling for a few days, he strongly suspected she would be waking to quite a bit of pain.

With a heavy sigh, he covered her with the blanket, and rose.

"I better go and find Gabriel," he said to the other two men. "He is in a rage and will need to be talked down."

"He'll probably be in Reverend Oliver's tent," Skunk offered. "We'll stay here."

"Ben!" Danvers darted in abruptly "He's gone. Oliver's gone with him - it was his flock that was murdered. About twenty more men have gone with him."

"Gone where!" Benjamin snapped.

"After the Butcher."

"_Fuck!_" Benjamin darted out of the tent, throwing orders over his shoulder for the men to ready themselves as he ran for his horse.

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**_Another A/N:_**

**_I hope you don't think Gabriel was too out of character - he was in a right rage in movie after Anne's death, and I can imagine him being deranged and violent as I've written him here..._**

**_Smiley - It makes me wonder who would win a duel between the two of them - just a one on one saber to saber duel. Hehe - Tavington of course._**

**_:-)_**

**_Lisette - thanks, I'm glad you liked the chapter!_**


	54. Chapter 54 - Rest Stop by the Creek

**Chapter 54 - Rest Stop by the Creek**

A detachment from the Green Dragoons thundered through the woods on a direct course to the main British camp, to retrieve the remaining units of the British Legion for the strike against Black Swamp.

After conferring with his Captain's, Tavington had sent the troops that had accompanied him to Pembroke, to Black Swamp under the command of Captain Joseph Simms. The forced march would be hard on the infantry, the Colonel knew, but they would be in place ready to attack by nightfall.

An hour or so from the British camp, Tavington held his arm up high to signal his score of twenty to slow. The horses needed constant rests, they could not sustain riding for hours without stop.

"Twenty minutes," Tavington commanded when the unit dismounted. "Enough time for a quick bite and to rest the horses."

The men nodded and immediately began setting up their cook pots. A fire was lit in record time.

"I will stand watch," Bordon offered. The Captain needed to be alone with his thoughts, needed to be away from the other men. Most importantly, he needed to be away from Tavington, just for the moment. Without waiting for a response, he stalked away to stand by himself near a large oak, while Tavington disappeared to the edge of the creek.

What had taken place at Pembroke earlier that day had been a massacre, pure and simple, and Bordon had to come to grips with it.

He understood why Tavington had made Wilkins throw the first firebrand. The Colonel had confided to Bordon that he doubted the Colonial Captain's resolve, since Wilkins had married "that Patriot woman". Tavington had forced Wilkins to show his Loyalty in the most gruesome way possible.

And there were more implications for Wilkins than throwing the first fire brand, Bordon reflected. In following his orders, Wilkins had consigned his wife's niece to death. Of course, theirs was a connection made from marriage, not of blood. But still, what would Mrs. Wilkins say when she learned of Anne Howard's death and her husband's role in it?

Bordon sighed heavily, he knew that the reason he was dwelling over Wilkins dilemma, was because he did not want to face the larger issue.

The massacre itself.

And it had been a massacre, of major proportions. At least thirty civilian's dead - some of them children. The Captain closed his eyes, breathing heavily now. He had heard their terrified screaming. Even as he followed Tavington further from the church, he had heard the screams become fever pitched and desperate.

Wilkins had stayed, staring at the church with horror. When the Captain finally joined Bordon and Tavington, Wilkins had been distraught and broken.

Tavington however...

Bordon's eyes snapped open and he looked around the tree at Tavington, now shaving in the creek. By his relaxed stance, by the way he groomed himself with such an air of nonchalance, Bordon knew that Tavington felt no remorse over his actions at Pembroke, and probably never would. He understood somewhat - if Margaret and his own daughter had been taken and their lives threatened, he would be in a state of blood lust too! But to kill innocents... Not the men - men were never innocent in times of war. But the women and the children...

No, Bordon did not think he could ever stoop to such degradations. He turned to face forward again, his eyes scanning the small, wooded valley.

"Tea's ready!" One of the men called. Bordon ignored it, not leaving his sentry duty. One of the Dragoons would bring him a cup of tea and some stew shortly. They would eat quickly then be on their way to the British encampment. Their stop their would be short also, long enough to make their report and gather up the rest of the Legion before they were off to Black Swamp.

It was going to be a long and bloody night, but time was of an essence now. They needed to get Lyra from the camp before the rebels learned of the massacre, for they would surely kill her.

His thoughts turned to the massacre again, he found himself wondering what the hell Joseph Simms thought of it all, for the boy seemed to damned near worship the ground Tavington walked on. A good Captain, a good man, and yet he had not seemed any where near as affected by the genocide as some of the other troops. Then again, Lyra was his cousin and the two were very close.

A movement caught Bordon's eye and before his mind even registered what he was seeing, he began to shout.

"To arms! To arms!"

Bordon pulled his own pistol as the the men behind him looked up, momentarily startled. They swung into action as well, as the rebels Bordon had caught sight of crested the hill and began riding hard down into their midst. Bordon fired once, then pulled his saber and entered the fray.

::::::::::::::::

The swaying of the horse drew Lyra fully awake. She could not understand it, hadn't she just coupled with Benjamin? Christ, why did it hurt so much? Her head was on fire, her face, her back, her arms, her backside. So much pain and the swaying of the horse was not helping. Where the devil was she? She shifted in the saddle, became aware that she was bent over the horses neck with her arms tied _around_ its neck. She began to panic.

"Nah, nah, nah - relax," Curly's voice came to her, he slowed the horse and stopped. "The ropes were necessary, Miss Mathan," he explained as he unbound her wrists. "I did not want you to fall off."

"Curly?" She whispered, her head pounded like a drum, it hurt so very much.

"Yeah, its me."

"Where are we?" She peered through the trees all around them, it was coming on to dark, that much was clear.

"Not far from a British camp. I'm glad your awake, because we'll be coming across Redcoat scouts soon, I've managed to avoid them so far. But now, we'll head right for them, I think. Then you'll have to make your own way - but I will wait to make sure you're in friendly hands, like, before I leave you. But I can't stay, because they'll hang me, for certain."

"Oh, sweet Lord above, you helped me to escape," she turned in the saddle to glance up at him.

"Yeah. I did," he said as he mounted the horse once more. He took up the reins and Lyra wound her fingers through the horses mane.

"Benjamin will kill you."

"Not if he doesn't find out and Skunk is covering for me. So don't say who bought you outta there, alright? I can make it back to camp, and they'll be none the wiser."

"Why?" She breathed.

"Because it was wrong, what they were doing to you. Gabriel beating you and Ben trying to fill your belly. But that wouldn't have worked, hey? You're already with child," he kicked the horse and they began to move again.

"You knew?" She gasped over her shoulder.

"Yeah," he scoffed. "I knew. Most women get sick, can't eat. But my wife, she was hungry, all the time. For food and for... other things."

"Oh," Lyra blushed crimson. "You never said."

"Nah. I don't care much for the Butcher, Miss Mathan, but if Benjamin had found out - or worse yet, _Danvers_, you would have been hurt, real bad. The babe would have been -"

"Don't say it, please!" Lyra wailed. "Oh, my baby, I can't stand the thought. Curly... I could never repay you for this."

"I did the right thing, Miss Mathan. Thats all the reward I need. Besides, Danvers was getting worse, he wanted you, he did. Wanted to hurt you, like. Real bad, I think. And the other men were out for your blood after..." He paused, not wanting to be the one who told Lyra what atrocity her fiancé had committed. "Well, suffice it to say things have gotten real dangerous for you in camp after today and I don't think you'd have survived."

"Oh..." she breathed fearfully, she remembered Gabriel's rage and a shiver of terror shot along her spine. The other rebels in camp had had no love for her, and she dwelled over what _they_ would have done to her. Nothing good, if Gabriel's sudden violence was anything to go by.

"Thank you, Curly," she said quietly.

Curly answered by patting her shoulder in commiseration.

They rode in silence for some time under the canopy of trees, it was becoming increasingly darker by the moment. Lyra wondered how long she had been unconscious for - hours, it seemed.

"Not far to the first Redcoat, Miss Mathan. And I'll show you the way, but you must walk. Can you walk?"

"I think so." He helped her down and steadied her for several moments, to ensure she could stand.

"What did William do, Curly?" She asked him as she held his gaze. "Why was Gabriel..." She shuddered, recalling his rage, his murderous intent. "I've never seen him like that before, I didn't think he was capable of it."

"You haven't seen him in battle," Curly said gently. "As for what happened to cause his anger - I don't think I'll tell you Miss, best you remain an innocent lamb. I am sending you back to the Butcher, and I reckon its best if you just don't know what a monster Tavington is, what he's capable of. I wouldn't go asking, neither."

"Monster?" She asked in a small voice. "It was that bad?"

He held her gaze in silence.

"And then some," he finally answered in hushed tone.

::

He held her arm and led her quietly through the woods, stopping when they drew close to the first sentries.

"Right through there, you see that beacon?" Curly pointed through the foliage.

"Yes. Where will you be?"

"Within hearing distance," he whispered. "Make lots of noise as you approach so they don't think you're sneaking up on them. Oh, and tell 'em who you are, right off. You say, 'I'm Colonel Tavington's fiancé, Lyra Mathan!', real loud like, alright? Nothing else - you get Tavington's name in first, before all else."

"Oh... Alright." Lyra said nervously.

"And if it turns nasty, I'll come help you. There are only four of them."

Lyra began to laugh, a relief of pent up tension.

"Only four of them," she repeated and giggled. There was only _one_ of Curly. "So sure of yourself!"

She sobered suddenly, searching the Patriots face. "I won't breathe a word of who helped me. But Curly... You have my gratitude. Thank you. So much."

"Nah, none of that. There's been bad done, Miss Mathan, on both sides. And good done too, on both sides. Did you know your Colonel helped a Patriot woman, took her side over a Loyalist, when a dispute arose over a bunch of dairy cows? The Loyalist thought to curry the Butcher's favour by stealing the woman's cows and giving them to the Dragoons to help supply them, but Tavington was having none of it. He sent the cows back to the Patriot woman, and drubbed the Loyalist with his sword. He's committed some atrocities too, more bad than good in my opinion. But you shouldn't have to pay for any of it."

"Thank you," she said again, feeling the words too simple, it was not enough. She kissed his cheek and embraced him warmly. "Please don't get caught, Curly." She whispered against his ear. "Don't let them know you helped me, please? Be careful."

"I will. Now go, the longer it takes for me to get back the sooner they will discover my ruse. I have to get back to Skunk, not dawdle here... Unless you want me to dandle you on my knee?"

"No," Lyra laughed. "I've had all I can take of being dandled. I want my William, now."

"Of with you then."

Lyra began to walk down the path Curly had led her to, it was almost pitch black now, the clouds above made it a moonless night. Spying the firebrand up ahead she began to make her way toward it. She turned back, but could not make anything out. Curly said he would be there somewhere however, so she waved, then turned back.

"Hello?" She called cautiously toward the circle of light ahead. He had said to make lots of noise, but it hurt too much to stomp, her head was splitting from Gabriel's punches. "Hello?"

"Who goes there? Identify yourself." A man's edgy voice snapped out. She could see them now, four Redcoats standing to attention, alert.

"Ah... I'm Colonel Tavington's fiancé, Miss Lyra Mathan. Can you have me returned to him?"

One of the men stepped forward, a firebrand in one hand. He studied her face carefully.

"Yes, Miss Mathan. I can. But keep in mind, if you are not who you say you are, the Colonel will show you no mercy."

"Surely no one would be fool enough to make a claim like this?" She asked archly. "Look here, I'm tired, hungry, pregnant, I've been beaten by my captors, tormented... I just want to go home, I just want my William. Can't you take me to him?"

"Of course, Miss," the Redcoat said, suddenly contrite, he began to lead her toward the other Redcoats. "I am sorry, there have been several attempts to infiltrate the main camp, some spies have already been discovered. But you are quite right, it would be incredibly foolhardy to make a claim like yours if it were not true. You were beaten, you say? How is your baby?"

"Fine, I think, thank you. I was able to protect my stomach -"

"Not your face, however," one of the men leaned in close. "Christ, Colonel Tavington will be furious, you're covered with bruises!"

"How did you get away?"

"And how did you get here?"

"A friend helped me escape from Benjamin Martin's camp. And I will be grateful to him until my dying day," she said, nice and loud for Curly's ears.

::

One of the British Officers escorted her to the British camp.

"I thought it would be bigger than this," Lyra frowned at the amount of tents and cook fires.

"Oh, this is not the main camp, Miss Mathan. You will need to remain here tonight, and will be escorted to Colonel Tavington tomorrow. You should be there before mid morning."

"But I want to see him now!" Lyra wailed, suddenly at the end of it. "I thought we were there, that he would be here!"

"I am sorry, Miss," the Officer repeated sympathetically. He took the weeping girl by the arm and had her settled in one of the camp tents.

::::::::::::::::

Before dusk, in severe pain and suffering bloody loss, Tavington somehow managed to stumble into the Redcoat camp. The last bit of his energy spent, he fell from the saddle and collapsed to the dirt.

The next thing he remembered was waking up to pain, so much pain, as a surgeon bent over him working on his wound by the light of the nearby lanterns. He caught sight of O'Hara and Cornwallis, both of them waiting fearfully for news of his condition. He reached out and grabbed Cornwallis' arm.

"Was shaving in... a stream... They came over... the hill like... a wave... at least... twenty rebels..." his voice was feverish and filled with agony.

"Just rest, Colonel," Cornwallis tried to sooth the man to no avail.

"Killed... the whole troop... Bordon, right before... my eyes..."

"You need to rest, Colonel," O'Hara took a turn.

"Get him some more laudanum!" Cornwallis snapped.

"Yes, my Lord," the surgeon nodded at a corpsman assisting him.

"No!" Tavington yelled. "They'll kill her... after this..! Must get.. to Black Swamp!" He gripped Cornwallis harder - or tried to, he was losing his strength. "Black Swamp! They... are in Black... Swamp!" His grip loosened, he was about to faint. "By the... Old Spanish... Mission... Tell Simms..."

In his delirious state, Tavington forgot that he had already sent Simms and Wilkins to Black Swamp.

"It will be done, Colonel," Cornwallis said sympathetically. "But not by you. We will get your fiancé out and capture the Ghost at the same time. You have fulfilled your end of the bargain, Colonel - the Ghost is as good as caught," Cornwallis' voice was reassuring but Tavington had already passed out again.

:::::::::

A/N: Thanks Smiley! :-) I'm pleased you didn't think it Gabriel's reaction was too far fetched.


	55. Chapter 55 - Black Swamp

**Chapter 55 - Black Swamp**

"Captain!" Lieutenant Richard Wilkins called softly as he edged through the bushes.

"Over here," Joseph called back. James Wilkins waited tensely beside Joseph as his brother crouched beside them to make his report.

"There are twelve sentries, here, here and here." Using a stick, he quickly drew a rough map in the dirt, indicating the sentrie's positions.

"How many men are in the camp?" Joseph asked.

"Not many. I reckon about fifty are holding the camp."

"Only fifty?" Joseph frowned. "Where the Christ are the rest of them!"

Richard shrugged, he did not know.

"What of Martin, did you catch sight of him? Of Lyra?" Joseph's tone took on a feverish edge.

"No, neither. Though Miss Mathan could well be in one of the tents. I watched for quite a while and saw no sign of Martin or your cousin, either one."

"Shit." Joseph looked to James. "Where the Devil is Tavington? He was supposed to be here with reinforcements by now."

"Yes, he was. Though with only fifty in camp, we hardly need them. We out number them four to one with the Dragoons alone, let alone the infantry."

"True. But Tavington may not want us to attack if the Ghost is not here." Lieutenant Robert Wentworth pinioned.

"But he will want Lyra back," Joseph countered. "And with only fifty to guard the camp, we could be in and out with my cousin in no time."

"Tavington was supposed to be here a half hour ago," James estimated. "I say we go in, get Miss Mathan and get the Hell out of here, before Martin returns with the rest of the rebels."

"On the other hand, we could get Lyra out then lay in wait for the rebels to return, catch them by surprise," Joseph suggested.

"Yes, that could work," James approved.

"Right then, we do that. Richard and Robert, take a small team and neutralize those sentries, report back when its done. Then we go in, take out the camp, get Lyra out. We will wait for two hours and if the Ghost as not returned we head back to Cornwallis."

The men rose quietly to carry out Joseph's command.

:::

It was an out and out slaughter. A highly successful outcome for Joseph's first mission.

Leaving the infantry in reserve, the Green Dragoons descended on the camp, killing anything that moved. The rebels put up a token resistance, but the wave of Dragoons was too strong and the Patriot militia still standing broke and ran. Some few got away but the Dragoons ran down most of those, as well.

Full dark had fallen by the time the fight came to its inevitable conclusion. By the light of many firebrands, Joseph guided his mount around the dead and wounded rebels.

None of the Dragoons had been hurt badly during the raid, though Joseph sported a deep cut across his hand where he had been sliced by an enemy dagger.

"Any sign of Lyra?" He called frantically. "Where is Lyra!"

"Not here!" A general chorus was called back to him, sounding throughout the camp. Most of the tents where still standing, only a few had collapsed in the initial charge. Dragoons darted in and out of the those tents, and each one emerged empty handed.

"No Miss Mathan and no Ghost," James murmured at Joseph's side. "Perhaps she is hiding in the woods? She might have slipped away when the fighting began -"

"Lyra!" Joseph seized on the idea and began calling into the night. "Lyra, come out, it's safe now!"

No answer, no one emerged from the surrounding woods and bushes.

"Shit. Where is she?" He muttered.

"We could question the wounded..." James mused. "Find out where the Ghost has gone and when he is coming back."

"Yes," Joseph nodded. "With that information, we'll know if it is a waste of time staying here. We could be back in the British camp before midnight if we leave now."

"Where the hell did Tavington get to?" Richard asked - he was checking on a wounded rebel nearby. Joseph recognised him but he had to search his memory for the man's name.

Dan Scott.

"He only had a score to protect him," James replied. "They must have been attacked."

"I can think of no other reason for his absence, to be sure." Joseph agreed. He dismounted and approached the wounded soldier Richard was tending. The man was awake and Joseph squatted at his side. James Wilkins joined him.

"Where is Martin, Scott?" He asked without preamble, half expecting to be spat at, half expecting defiance. He was utterly surprised when the soldier began to speak freely, if painfully.

"Gone. I don't know where. Gabriel came into camp, told us what was done at Pembroke. Was that you? You bunch of fucking bastards, killing innocents!"

Joseph said nothing, though he felt Wilkins tense at his side.

"Fucking bastards..." Dan Scott repeated. "It sent Gabriel into a right rage, it did - his wife was in that church! He beat the Butcher's whore and then took off -"

"He beat Lyra?!" Joseph snapped, ready to do murder then and there.

"Yeah, he did. But then he took off with a score of troops. Ben went after him, damn near emptied the camp."

"Where is Lyra?"

"Damned if I know where the whore went -"

Richard drew his saber and held the sharp tip against Dan's throat. The man could not even swallow, his Adam's apple would have been sliced if he did.

"Call her a whore again..." Richard dared.

Dan began to sweat. He nodded but did not apologize. Richard, taut with fury, withdrew his sword.

Joseph watched impassively. He had not liked hearing Lyra called a whore, but he was more interested in learning her where a-bouts than defending her honor just then.

"How can you not know where she went?"

"I just don't. We went into the tent to... To..." Dan swallowed then, and judged that it would not be prudent to tell these men what they had intended to do to Lyra. He changed what he had been about to say. "To check on the good woman's welfare," he smiled insolently. "But she was gone."

"What, just disappeared?"

"Nah, she had help. She must've had. There were those in camp who were sympathetic to her. They must've known she was in danger after the church was burnt and our people killed. Our people! What is one woman to that? Children and their mother's, Goddamn it!"

"Where is Martin?" Joseph ignored the man's ranting and repeated his question from earlier.

"I told you, I don't know. Gabriel had a lead on them, but Martin was riding from here bloody hard. They probably caught up to Gabriel and then went in search of Tavington together, for all I know. Your Butcher is probably dead by now." Scott smiled at the thought. "Yes, dead."

"We shall see," Joseph rose to his feet.

"Your orders?" James asked, rising also. Richard watched in silence as Wentworth joined them.

"Shit, I'm not sure. Return to the British camp? We will have a hell of a time trying to find the Ghost in the dark. We can't follow the tracks..."

"And Miss Mathan is safely away by the sound of it," Richard mused.

"I say we head back to camp," James suggested.

"Hmm. Yes... Hopefully Lyra will be there by now, and we can get word of Tavington. We will report to O'Hara. If he wants us to go after the Ghost, he can send us out tomorrow. For now, lets get to camp and get a good night sleep."

"Very good," James agreed. They would need their rest if they were to be sent after the full force of rebels the following day.

:::::::

"Christ, I would not say no to that laudanum right now!" Tavington muttered as he lay back on the cot he had been moved to. He was still in the medical tent but in a far corner, out of the way of the surgeons. O'Hara had already told him it was well after midnight and that he, the Colonel, had been unconscious for hours.

"It is coming, Colonel." O'Hara took a seat beside the Colonel with a sigh of relief. Cornwallis and the Brigadier General had both feared Tavington would not pull through.

"No herbs mind, only the laudanum," Tavington snapped when the Corpsman stood over him with the dose of laudanum, he did not want anything that might bring on phantasms again.

"No, Sir. It's just a little bit of wine."

"Dear Lord - you are a mess," O'Hara observed as Tavington took the small glass from the corpsman's hand.

"Indeed," the Colonel tightened his lips. "There were at least twenty of them. Took us by surprise. Killed the whole troop!"

"Yes, you told us earlier, before the doctors began working on you. We were worried for a while there."

"I was in too much pain to worry. Was it such a near thing then?"

"It certainly was," O'Hara said. He was stalling for time, not quite ready to tell him the outcome of the attack at Black Swamp. "Now, I have some good news regarding your troop, some of your Dragoons survived and have made their way back here."

"Bordon?" Tavington asked hopefully.

"No, I am sorry."

Tavington tightened his lips. Stephen. How long had they been together for now? How long had they been friends? He rolled his jaw, grief and fury burning inside him.

"There is something else," O'Hara said, snapping Tavington's attention back to him. "Captain Joseph Simms led the Green Dragoons on an attack at Black Swamp, but the camp was not heavily manned. They managed to quell what was there, taking the live ones prisoner, but the Ghost was not there."

"Lyra?" Tavington asked. Obviously she had not been rescued, for surely she would be a his bedside? Unless... "Shit, Charles," Tavington said warily, dropping all formality. "Tell me she's alright!"

"I do not know, William. I am sorry, she was not there."

"Shit," Tavington whispered. He closed his eyes and collapsed against his pillow. "She's out there, Christ knows where, still in his hands. Fuck, Charles - I killed another of his sons! It was battle, but I can't imagine that the Ghost will be reasonable. She could be dead already!"

"William, I don't know what to tell you. Simms reported that a rebel by the name of Dan Scott informed them that Miss Mathan had escaped from camp. But as she has not been returned to us, I can only assume she has been taken again. I am fond of the girl, you must remember I had thought to court her once myself! But right now, I am more concerned with you and your wound. Would you please drink the laudanum, it will help you get some rest. Perhaps there will be news when you wake again later."

"What, sleep it off?" Tavington spat bitterly. "I've failed her, failed to protect her and my baby. She's with child, did you know?"

"No," O'Hara breathed. "No, I did not."

"It wasn't common knowledge. I left her in the care of those I thought I could trust and they betrayed me, they betrayed her. They stripped away my ability to protect her. I can't go in search of her myself, I must lay here like an invalid, leaving the job to others. And what might they find, if they discover her? Damn and blast it, Charles, and you suggest that I 'sleep it off'?"

"Yes," O'Hara snapped, out of patience. There was only one way to deal with Tavington now. "Take the damned laudanum, Colonel. Thats an order."

Tavington spluttered and his eyes bulged in their sockets. An order was an order however and Brigadier General Charles O'Hara was glaring at him implacably.

"Bottoms up," Tavington ground harshly. He raised the glass to O'Hara and drank the contents whole.

::::::::::::::::

As soon as the sun rose, Lyra jumped out of the cot and dressed herself quickly. There was no mirror available to her, which was just as well for she did not want to see the bruises that marred her cheeks and jaw. She could feel them, that was bad enough. She splashed her face with water and dried herself, careful of her tender skin.

When she was respectable enough, she ducked out of her small tent and went in search of the Officer who would escort her to the main camp, where William was sure to be.

"When can we be away, Sir?" Lyra asked the Officer eagerly as soon as she was admitted to his tent. The Officer glanced up from what he was doing and he winced when his eyes caught sight of her bruises once more. "As bad as all that?" Lyra touched her face gingerly.

"Ah, yes... The bruises are... Well, there is swelling too and..." he swallowed hard. "I was told that Tavington's fiancé is a woman of renown beauty, but right now Miss Mathan, beautiful you are not."

"Charming," Lyra said flatly.

The Officer coughed with embarrassment and decided to move on to her other question. "We shall leave shortly, Miss Mathan. We shall breakfast while the horses are being readied and then we will leave. It will take a good two hours, to reach the main camp."

Approximately eight O'Clock then, Lyra judged. Not much later, anyway. She would not be happy until she was once again at William's side, for too many things had a habit of going wrong.

As promised, straight after breakfast, they rode out. The Officer set a steady pace, with his twenty cavalry men surrounding Lyra. She would have liked to go faster, but she reasoned it was a good thing, she was pregnant after all. Women were not supposed to ride at all, let alone while carrying a baby.

After several stops to rest the horses, when the sun was hovering above the horizon, they finally made their way into the main British camp.

Ah, this is more like it. Lyra glanced at all the tents, it was easily five times bigger than the camp she had slept in the night before. No, ten times bigger! And William would be in there. Somewhere.

The Officer had already spoken to a Redcoat, word would be sent to the Colonel. He would know that she had arrived very soon. He would meet her, she was certain, she could not wait to see the astonished look on his face when -

"Lieutenant," An approaching Officer stopped the detachment. "Sir, Colonel Tavington has been wounded. He is in the medical tents -"

"Wounded!" Lyra snapped sharply, pushing forward. "What happened, is he well?"

"Ah -" the Officer hesitated.

"Answer her," the Lieutenant commanded curtly.

"He is well, I believe. Asleep, they gave him laudanum during the night."

"I must be taken to him at once," Lyra said decisively.

"Of course, Miss Mathan. This way," the Lieutenant nodded, changing direction, leading them to the much larger tents.

::::::::

"Oh, God," Lyra sobbed and rushed over the pallet. Tavington lay on his back, completely still. She thought the worst at first but William was merely sleeping. His chest was bare, except for the bandages encircling his wound.

"A bullet," the doctor explained as Lyra, her expression filled with concern and love, began stroking back Tavington's hair from his brow. "He will be awake soon. There was a skirmish you see, most of the other men died. Two more were bought in during the night, and they'll survive."

"Oh, that is good," Lyra said absently, she only had eyes for William.

The doctor left her to it, left the distraught young woman to rub at Tavington's brow.

"Oh, William, wake up. Please? Honey..." She kissed his head, his cheeks, his unresponsive lips. Though the Doctor had assured her he would be fine and would waken soon, she could not stand to see him so... prone.

Her touch could not wake up though, the laudanum kept him in oblivion. Resigned, she shifted herself until she lay alongside him on the cot and she curled around him, careful of his wound.

She had not meant to fall asleep, but she was tired, so tired. And Tavington's body was so warm...

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**_A/N: Hi everyone, again, thanks for the reviews! _**

**_Now, I know some of you are wanting a sweet and lovely reunion but this is Tavington we're talking about and he will have to deal with a few facts before he can really celebrate her return. He's a jealous bastard, after all and I really can't see him 'glossing' over her time with Benjamin and being all lovey dovey, just because he's pleased to have her back. I'm sorry, but I just can't write him that way._**

**_:-(_**

**_I'll try and get the chapter up tonight so it's not too long of a wait. Tomorrow morning at the latest. _**

**_Smiley - I'd hoped I'd built Curly's character enough for that to be believable. No, Curly won't be punished, though Danvers will be pissed off and suspicious! Mwahahaha. I want to apologise to you for the next chapter, because I know you want their reunion to be sweet! LOL! _**


	56. Chapter 56 - Reunited

**Chapter 56 - Reunited**

"Hmm," Lyra moaned and snuggled into the soft caress. She could smell him, spice and sweat and horse, lovely smells that were all him. His arms enveloped her, his hands moving along her back, up and down. She snuggled closer and began to wake up properly, eventually lifting her head to his.

"How?" William said, incapable of anything else. His eyes were open wide with astonishment, his fingers caressed her face and hair, as if to reassure himself that she was quite real. "Is this another fever dream? My wound is infected, they must have given me herbs -"

"No, I am here," Lyra smiled, she tilted her head up and brushed a whisper of a kiss along his lips. "Finally..." A heavy sigh.

"But..." he shook his head, incredulous. "How?"

"I had help getting out of camp. A friend escorted me to a British camp where I spent the night and they bought me here this morning."

"Ah, so you've been safe since last night? Thank Christ - I was worried."

"I wanted to come to you last night but the Officer said I had to wait for morning," Lyra said with a heavy sigh.

"Don't worry, you're here now. These bruises, though," his tone became fevered, fury filled. "The Ghost beat you - I will kill him, I will -"

"It was his son, honey. Gabriel Martin."

Tavington stopped dead, his lips formed a silent 'OH' and he snapped his mouth shut.

Lyra stared down at him quizzically, dying to ask the question, to find out what William had done that was so bad it would cause the gentle Gabriel to become so deranged. But Curly's words came back to her, that she did not want to know, not to invite trouble. And they had only just reunited and...

She found herself unable to ask. Instead she kissed him again, wrapped her arms around his neck. She melted against his chest as he deepened the kiss, both just relieved and happy to be together again.

"The baby?" He asked when he came up for air.

"He - or she," she smiled, "is fine, I think. No worse for wear, though I suppose it won't hurt to have the midwife look me over."

"No, it won't hurt," Tavington drew a steadying breath. "Lyra... Did he... Did Martin..."

"Yes, William." She held his gaze steadily and he closed his eyes, pain flaring over his face.

Guilt and anguish tore her stomach and she had to gulp back a rush of tears. She considered telling him the truth, that she had found pleasure in another man's bed. She reasoned that if she told him now, then Benjamin could not taunt William with it later - the two were bound to meet again.

But how could she admit such a thing? William would be disgusted that she could find pleasure with his sworn enemy.

William interpreted her distress as pain and shame over what he assumed to be very brutal rapes.

"Lyra..." He closed his eyes and pulled her close, enveloping her against his chest and stroking her hair.

"I'm so sorry..." She whispered.

"Shh, its not your fault."

"I didn't fight him, William!" She admitted. He paused, his hand stopped stroking her hair. "I was frightened he would hurt me, and I was desperate to protect the baby and so I did not fight him. Please forgive me!"

"Nothing to forgive," he said gruffly, resuming that gentle stroking. "I'm not foolish enough to believe you could have fended him off without harm coming to you."

Lyra sighed with relief and melted against him.

"It's so good to have your arms around me again," she whispered. "I've thought of nothing but you for days."

"And I've thought of nothing but you," he said fervently. "Christ, I thought I had gone insane for a while there." He turned over so the two were laying on their sides, facing each other. He kissed her deeply with a deep sigh of contentment then nudged his nose against hers. "Will you tell me how you got away from Black Swamp?" He asked softly.

"I can't. I promised I wouldn't reveal who helped me. But I had sympathizers in camp and they did not like what was happening to me. I am not going to ask what it was that you did, my rescuer said not to invite trouble -"

Tavignton shifted uncomfortably beside her. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder what she would think of his actions at Pembroke - burning a church filled with women and children.

"- and I am going to take his advice. But he said it was really very bad and it enraged the men - it certainly enraged Gabriel." She fingered her bruises gently, feeling the swelling on her face. "And my rescuer said they had to get me out of there before the others tried to hurt me. And so he tied me to his horse -"

"Tied you! Some rescuer!" Tavington flared up at once.

"Oh, hush. Gabriel's attack left me unconscious, I could not have kept to the saddle if I hadn't been tied on!" She admonished and William subsided under her hard glare. "He took me directly to a British camp, though he waited back in the woods until he was certain I was safe. I thought you would be in the camp - that I had been taken to the main camp. Lord, how disappointed was I? I had to spend yet another night without you!" Her eyes teared again and Tavington kissed her soothingly.

"We're together now. Go on," he encouraged.

"Well," she sniffled. "They gave me a tent and I was promised I would be escorted here first thing. I woke up at the crack of dawn -"

"_You_ woke at the crack of dawn?" Tavington laughed at her. Lyra usually slept until well after the sun had risen. "You must have been eager to see me indeed."

"Oh, you're teasing me now?" She smiled. "The joy of seeing me must be wearing off already."

"The joy of seeing you will never wear off, my angel," William whispered seriously. Leaning forward, he kissed her slowly and deeply. Lyra wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers touching his face, gliding over his rough uneven stubble. She drew away with surprise.

"You haven't shaved yourself very well, you've left half the stubble behind," she commented. It was most unlike him, he was usually very exacting and precise with his grooming.

"Well, that would be because we were attacked while I was shaving."

"Oh, how selfish I've been!" Lyra cried passionately. "Telling you all my woes and I have not even asked you about the attack! What happened?"

"Twenty of us were heading back here, to confer with Cornwallis and to gather the remaining British Legion. We stopped to rest the horses, the men were having a bite to eat and I went to shave at the creek while Bordon -" Tavington choked and rolled onto his back with a groan. "Stephen..."

"What..?" Lyra prompted, though she feared she knew what was coming.

"He was killed."

"Oh, my God!" Fearing the worst was one thing, but to hear it said! Lyra burst into tears and Tavington pulled her close.

"Christ. He's been with me for so long," he muttered while she wept. "He died bravely, and cleanly. But dead is dead! I had hoped, when O'Hara informed me that some of the other men had survived, I had hoped that Stephen was one of them. But he was not. He was my right hand, Lyra." Tavington lamented. He continued in a softer tone, "and possibly my only true friend."

Lyra continued to weep. Not only for Bordon himself, but for Margaret and their daughter Lydia. It was always their greatest fear and the women had discussed it time and time again, what they would do if their beloved soldier died. Emily and Lyra had not been able to answer the question, though Charlotte had said she would return to Charles Town and live with James' family. Margaret however, had said she would take Lydia and set sail on the first ship to England, never to return to the Colonies again, if her beloved husband was killed here.

Bordon had been a good man - despite his attack on Miss Anne Howard. Tavington had lost his friend and Lyra had quite possibly lost her friend as well, if Margaret actioned her plan and left the Colonies. Both were silent as they thought of Bordon.

"She doesn't even know!" Lyra burst out suddenly. "How long before she is told?"

"I am going to write to her today. She will know by this evening or tomorrow morning, depending on when I can get the letter sent."

"You must do it now, William," Lyra sniffled. She drew away from Tavington and began a search for parchment, quills and ink. "She can not be left in the dark. It is not right. Right now, she is thinking of when she'll see her husband again and -" Lyra choked off and sat on the side of the cot heavily. "Oh, poor Margaret, poor Lydia!"

"I know," William said quietly. "I've lost many men over the years, Lyra. But I am not ashamed to admit it - the loss of Stephen is -" his breath caught. He sat up and ran his hands over his hair wearily. "This one is hard to take," he finished in a whisper.

"Oh poor William!" Lyra turned on the cot and wrapped her arms around his broad back, hugging him bodily from behind and he pulled her hands close to his chest.

Tavington was the first to pull away. Suddenly brisk and businesslike, he rose to his feet and began searching for his uniform. "You are quite right, my angel. Mrs. Bordon must be told at once. I am certain a tent will have been set up for me by now, we shall go there, have a doctor attend you there. Then I shall write my letter. One to Mrs. Bryant as well. She will need to see to having the women packed and bought here to camp."

"They can't travel on their own!"

"They won't have to," William informed her as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders. "There is still a British Legion unit at the plantation, remember?"

"Oh, of course."

In short order, Tavington was dressed. He wound his fingers through hers and they left the medical tent to begin asking directions to Tavington's quarters.

The Dragoons were situated altogether in one large field, not far from Lord Cornwallis' command tent. The couple had barely gone three steps into the Dragoon's section before Lyra's guard noticed her. Richard Wilkins was first. With a whoop of joy, he rushed forward and lifted her off her feet, giving her a bear hug. He was the first, but not the last. Wentworth was next, then of course Joseph. Their reunion was even more heart felt than Richard and Wentworth's.

Tavington said nothing, he stepped back and watched with a small smile as his men were reunited with their charge. They wanted to celebrate her return but he drew the line there.

"Give her space, for Christ's sake. Or have you not noticed her bruises? She needs rest. She needs to be checked over by a corpsman! We'll celebrate tomorrow."

"Yes, give her space," Joseph commanded. He shooed the others away, then led Tavington and Lyra to their tent. He only stayed long enough to ensure Lyra was well and tell the Colonel a little bit of the battle. He would give a full report later.

"We have taken at least seven prisoners," he informed Tavington. "Seven wounded out of almost fifty. The others died or escaped."

"Oh, no..." Lyra huddled on the cot and William sat beside her. "What if... my rescuers William. They might have been killed in the attack at Black Swamp, and I'll never know!"

"Not if you don't tell me who they were," William pointed out. "I can make enquiries."

"Alright, but it must no one may know outside this tent, for the Ghost will kill them!"

Joseph and William both vowed to keep the secret.

"It was Curly and Skunk."

"Ah," Joseph nodded, he knew both men. "I will find out for you, Lyra." He turned to leave the tent but Tavington hailed him back.

"Will you fetch a corpsman? To check over Lyra's bruises."

"Of course," he replied, before he ducked through the tent flap.

:::::::::

The Corpsman had been and gone. He could not detect anything discernibly wrong with Lyra's pregnancy, but at three months, it was hard to tell. He suggested Lyra spend the next few days in bed, and Tavington had taken the Corpsman at his word. He somehow found a pile of pillows for Lyra to recline against. The book he had found for her was discarded on the floor, and Tavington lay alongside his fiancé, the two kissing deeply. It was only a matter of time before one or the other of them escalated their canoodling to greater heights.

Unsurprisingly, it was Lyra.

"Now, now, my Angel," Tavington murmured against Lyra's lips as her fingers strayed toward his belt buckle. "You heard the doctor, you need your rest and I have a very difficult letter to write."

"A very heart breaking letter," Lyra agreed. "You should relax first, don't you think?"

Her hand dipped into his breeches, her fingers moulding and shaping his erection and Tavington pushed his pelvis against her hand with a sigh.

"You're not playing fair, my darling," he murmured. Exerting a huge effort of will, Tavington drew away from her and rose from the cot. Buckling his breeches, he turned back to her and repeated firmly, "You need your rest. And I have a very difficult letter to write."

"I know," Lyra smiled sadly.

William leaned over her and kissed her brow, then sat at his desk to write the painful letter to Mrs. Bordon, informing her that her husband had died.

:::

Tavington held his letters in a firm grasp as he strode through the Dragoons section of camp, searching for Private Lenly. He found the young man and instructed him to return to Captain Wilkins plantation to deliver his letters. One to Mrs. Bordon, one to Mrs. Bryant and one to Captain Phelps, which contained orders for the Captain to assist the women in closing the manor and to join the rest of the Legion at the British camp.

Next, he went in search of Captain Simms and Captain Wilkins, finding the two men in Simms tent. They stood to attention as soon as he entered the tent.

"As you were," he commanded, and joined them at the small table. "So, Black Swamp." He said without preamble.

James was quiet while Joseph gave his report. The events at Pembroke weighed heavily on him and he found it difficult to meet Tavington's eyes. The Colonel seemed much like his former self now that Lyra had been returned to him, but that would not alter what had been done at Pembroke.

Joseph came to a finish and Tavington nodded.

"Very well done," the Colonel complimented. "The decisions you made were thought through well, the raid itself a success despite the Ghost's absence," Tavington scowled. "You questioned the prisoners, you say?"

"Yes, last night before they were bought here. I have not questioned them again, however. None of them seemed to know where the Ghost would be."

"Back in Black Swamp, I dare say," Tavington growled. "Take me to them, I will question a few myself."

Joseph led the way out of the tent to the small stockade with its seven prisoners. It was a rude structure, built of wood and open to the elements. Seven men sat or lay on the ground depending on how severely wounded they were.

"That one there - Dan Scott. He seems to be the highest ranking - at least the others defer to him," Joseph informed him quietly.

"You there!" Tavington called and Scott rose lazily and stalked closer.

"What?" he asked insolently. Tavington allowed himself a hint of a smile.

"I wish to know where Benjamin Martin is," he said cooly.

"I'll bet you do," Dan Scott sneered. "You're probably out for his blood after his affair with your woman."

"You could say that," Tavington drawled, not rising to the bait. "Though I would hardly call it an 'affair'. Now, what will it take for you to tell me where he is?"

"More than you can offer," Scott smirked.

"Oh, I could offer quite a lot, I assure you," Tavington studied the other man, trying to discern a weakness. "Gold? Name your price. Freedom? I will allow you to walk from this stockade, free as -"

"What about a night in your whore's arms?" Dan growled. "Fucking dirty lobster back."

Tavington froze. His pale gaze sharpened, his body suddenly tense and tight.

"What did you say?" he whispered.

"I offered you my terms," the rebel said in mock surprise.

"Bring him out," Tavington commanded sharply. "We shall question him in the conventional manner."

"You threaten to torture me?" Scott shouted as two Redcoats entered the enclosure, while four more held weapons trained on the other rebels to ensure they did not attack. "When I'm under the knife, perhaps I'll tell you a thing or two you _don't_ want to hear!" He sneered as the two Redcoats grabbed his arms and hauled him out. He was dragged to Tavington, who stared at him intently.

"And what things would those be?" Tavington asked coldly, is suspicions aroused.

"Oh, how many times Benjamin fucked your woman," Scott sneered, too enraged to think rationally. "How much she enjoyed it!"

Tense with fury, Tavington stared down at the shorter man, ready to do murder.

"Don't listen to him, Sir," Joseph muttered. "He is just trying to -"

"What?" Scott snapped. "Just trying to what, Simms? Tell the truth? Thats what he's here for isn't it? The truth. Well, I don't know where old Ben is, that is one truth I can't reveal. But I can reveal a few others..." He turned back to Tavington. "Ask yourself this, Butcher. Why would I lie, huh? My life is in your hands."

"Yes," Tavington ground out. "It certainly is."

"So why would I say these things, if they weren't true?"

"And what, exactly, are you trying to tell me, hmm?" Tavington edged forward. He drew his saber and held the tip at Scott's neck. "Be very careful of your next words, rebel. They might well be your last."

Scott swallowed hard. But if he was as good as dead, he might as well go down fighting the only way he can.

"What I'm trying to tell you, _Butcher_, is that your woman was hot for it. I stood guard on her tent when Curly and Skunk were off duty. I heard her moaning -"

"She was being raped!" Joseph cried. He did not like the way Tavington was staring at Scott, as though the Colonel was taking the rebel's words seriously. "She was moaning because she was in pain!"

Scott laughed, genuinely amused. "Yeah, _that's_ why she was moaning," he chuckled. "Go ask her, Butcher. Then again, judging by your expression, you already know the truth."

Unfortunately, Scott was quite correct. Tavington had a knack of knowing when a person was lying to him, and when they were telling the truth. It was always in the eyes - and Scott held Tavington's with a steadiness that only a person telling the truth could achieve. They did not dart this way or that, he did not lick his lips nervously. He did not sweat, his cheeks did not flush. His voice did not quaver, there was no telltale hesitation in his speech.

"You stood guard on her tent?" Tavington asked coldly.

"Oh, Sir, don't listen!" Joseph lamented.

"Yeah, I did," Scott said calmly.

"And what did you hear?"

"Gasps, heavy breathing, panting. There was one time when he was clearly rogering her and he must've stopped because she growled 'move damn you'. I heard her clear as day through the tent. The creaking of the cot started again, and so did her panting. Another time -"

"Enough," Tavington hissed.

"- when I heard her say 'I feel I will die!'. And we all know what _that_ means." Scott chuckled.

Tavington was convinced now, for she had said those exact words to him when she was about to climax.

With a grim expression, Tavington shoved his saber back in its scabbard and whirled away.

"You never asked me about the time she sucked his cock!" Dan Scott shouted as Tavington strode away. "I should have gone ahead and fucked her!"

The Colonel sneered but did not slow his stride. The man would be dealt with later but for now, he must deal with Lyra.

::::::::

**_A/N: I know, I know - its ended up being a cliffy when I promised it wouldn't. But that is because I ended up completely re-writing and changing what was to happen, giving Lyra and Tavington a fuller reunion before he discovers that she did enjoy herself with Benjamin. Another huge thank you to Bain Sidhe, whose advice has again helped me to write a better chapter. I'll work on the next chapter now, and hopefully it will be up tomorrow sometime._**

**_Hey Smiley - I'm glad you agree about Tavington! :-)_**


	57. Chapter 57 - Joseph's Intervention

**Chapter 57 - Joseph's Intervention**

Tavington's determined strides carried him back through camp. His face was hard and set, Dragoons who wished to approach him thought better of it as soon as they caught sight of his thunderous expression.

_ "I feel I will die!"_

He clenched his fists, the black leather of his gloves drew tight over his knuckles. How many times had she cried out those words? Or something very similar. Enough to convince him that the Goddamned rebel was speaking truly.

Dark thoughts took hold of him, fueling his anger, his jealousy. As he drew closer to the tent, he imagined Martin holding Lyra down, pushing her legs apart, thrusting into her with a gleeful smile. Instead of her weeping with despair, Lyra moaned and bucked beneath him shouting, _"move, damn you!_"

William's breathing became labored, his heart pounded in his chest. He quickened his long stride, bearing down on Dragoons who had to leap out of his way to avoid being trampled. He barely noticed them because right then, he was being assailed with image after image, changing as quickly as lightening - Lyra on all fours as the Ghost rogered her from behind, her sitting astride him, his hands gripping her waist, guiding her up and down. Lyra wrapping her legs around him as he entered her.

With each such vision Lyra cried out and moaned with abandon, coming hard as the Ghost fucked her.

He reached their tent.

Before he had a chance to enter, he was damned near tackled to the ground. Captain Simms grabbed Tavington's arm, hauling the Colonel around.

"God damn it, Sir - he was lying!" Joseph shouted.

"Leave now, Captain," Colonel Tavington commanded dangerously. "That is an order."

"Sir -"

"Leave now, or I will have you in chains for insubordination." His cold eyes locked on Simms and finally the junior Officer backed down. Joseph released Tavington's arm and the Colonel shoved the canvas aside.

"What's happened?" Lyra said at once, having heard the exchange, having heard William's fury filled voice. She was still reclined against her pillows when he strode into the tent powerfully, his entire body rigid and tense. She sat up slowly and stared up at William wide eyed as he stalked toward her.

"What is it, William?" She asked nervously.

"Is it true?" Tavington asked softly, his voice very cold. "Did you find pleasure in the Ghost's bed?"

Lyra's face turned white and she sunk back against the pillows.

"William -"

"Don't you dare deny it!" He bellowed, raising one hand threateningly. Lyra cowered away from him, her eyes wide with fear.

With an extreme force of will, Tavington lowered his arm and began to pace back and forth, his body rigid with pent up violence.

Her green eyes bright with fear, her heart pounding, Lyra slowly rose to her feet on the other side of the cot, keeping it between them.

Tavington stopped pacing abruptly. Scowling, he stepped forward to the cot, his eyes locked on hers.

"Do you think I've forgotten how demanding you were before you were taken?" He shouted.

"William, please, if you would just listen -"

"Oh, you have an _explanation_ for this?" He snapped incredulously. "You allowed me to believe you were raped!"

"I _was_ raped!" Lyra cried. "I did not welcome him -"

"But you _enjoyed_ him!" Tavington shouted. Breathing heavily, he glared at her as she began to cry. "You told me you did not fight him but made no mention of bloody liking it!"

Her body trembled and tears coursed her cheeks, her fingers twisting in her skirts.

"If you would just let me explain -" she sobbed, but he cut her off again.

"The bloody rebel heard you!" Without breaking his glare he quickly jerked his arm, waving toward the stockade beyond the tent. " _'I feel I will die!'_ He heard you say it!"

"Oh, William," Lyra bemoaned, her legs almost giving out beneath her. "I was trying to protect our baby."

"Yes, you should be commended for your hard work and diligence," he jeered. "You did an admirable job indeed."

Lyra cried convulsively before him, her mouth working.

"You lied to me, Lyra," he said in a deliberate and deadly voice. "And you enjoyed pleasure at another man's hands."

Hunched in on herself, her right hand rubbing her left arm, Lyra shook her head in denial. Tavington stared at her, not bothering to control the rising tide of his rage.

Suddenly, he flashed forward and seized her arms, she cried out helplessly as he yanked her forward to kneel before him on the cot.

"You enjoyed pleasure at the hands of my enemy!" He screamed down into her face.

Lyra could barely breath, sobs wracked her body. She slumped - it was only his iron grip on her arms keeping her upright.

"He swore he would do it," Tavington breathed. "He swore he would make you enjoy it."

She could not say a word, his face blazed above hers, his glare implacable.

"But I _never_ thought you actually _would_," he accused in that terrible whisper.

"My body betrayed me..." she whispered, reaching up to stroke his face but he recoiled from her as though her touch burned him. Lyra's face twisted with anguish, she dropped back on her heels and hung her head.

"You _enjoyed_ him!" He shot back. "Do you know how worried I was for you? What lengths I went to, to punish those who had taken you? The Middleton's and those two others - they were traitors and deserved death but when I killed them I made them _bleed_ first, for taking you!"

"Oh, dear Lord," Lyra breathed, shaking before him on the cot.

"Days of worrying!" Tavington raged. "Sleepless nights! And you were in his embrace all the while? Letting him hold you, kiss you, touch you?"

"No, no, William!" She shook her head frantically and crawled to other side of the cot to clutch at his arms. "No, never that! He tried to kiss me once, but I didn't let him. I vow - I told him I would rather he gave me to his men than allow him to kiss me!"

Tavington glared down at her but did not pull away this time. Lyra continued in a rush to get the words out.

"I love you William. I thought of you the whole time! It was the only way I could sustain what was happening without going mad, by pretending he was you! I even said your name once, the first night and he got ever so angry!"

"Did you now?" Tavington asked quietly, still glaring unbendingly down at her.

"I thought he would beat me for it - he told me how he hates you, how he had to fight himself to not leave me hanging from a tree for you to find, just to cause you the slightest grief. He told me if I said your name again, he'd beat me and give me to the other men. But he could not stop me from thinking about you."

He studied her in silence for several heartbeats, watching her tensely as she gazed back, her eyes open wide and imploring.

"I'm so sorry," Lyra pleaded. "Can't you forgive me?"

Tavington pulled from her grasp and stepped back from her and Lyra let her hands fall to her lap, she looked lost.

"Will you spurn me then?" She whispered finally, her voice weak and drained of hope. "Is this the end of us?"

"I do not know," he replied tensely, heading for the tent flap. "I have some thinking to do."

"I want no one but you," she said faintly. She did not know if he heard her, she spoke the words so quietly and he was already ducking out of the tent to get away from her.

:::

He strode away from the tent though he had no particular destination in mind. Dragoons milled about, having heard the shouting coming from their commanders tent. Tavington wondered how much they had heard, how much shame it would bring him if they knew his fiancé had enjoyed another man's touch.

He had only gone a few steps when Joseph Simms fell in beside him.

"I thought I told you to leave," Tavington snapped at him.

"I did. I came back," Joseph shrugged.

"How much could the others hear?" The Colonel ground out.

"Nothing. I shooed them away. Especially Lyra's guard - you realise they are very loyal to her. If you had tried to hit her they would have been in there like a shot -"

"And they all would have been in irons before midday," Tavington grated. "How much did _you_ hear?"

"Most of it," Joseph admitted, unashamed. "She is my cousin Colonel. In my father's absence I am the head of her house. And as she is not your wife yet, I felt it was my _obligation_ and my _right_ to protect her."

"Protect her!" Tavington snapped, his hands curling into tight fists. "Are you trying to provoke me?"

"Not at all. Is it not my right until you have married her?"

"It may be your right for a long while yet," Tavington growled. "I am undecided."

"You may not marry her?" Joseph asked coldly. "I think I will have to take acceptation to that, Sir. She is carrying your child. I will not let you ruin my cousin."

"She has ruined herself in that man's bed!"

Joseph held his silence, the two striding purposefully but still with no direction, though the horse coral was just ahead.

"If you wish to protect your cousin, why did you not go to her just now? You must know she is in distress."

"Because, as I said, I heard most of it," Joseph sniffed. "I would have had some sharp words for her myself if I had attended her just now. Besides, I felt you had more need of me than she did."

"You presume too much," Tavington said disdainfully.

"Be that as it may, I have come to you instead of her. And I will stay unless you command me to leave."

Tavington held his silence, torn. He wanted to be alone, but not, at the same time. He decided to let the younger Officer stay.

"So," Joseph began when the two men reached the coral. They stopped and leaned their arms on the fence to watch the horses. "You may not marry her yet. You know, you never broached my father or myself to ask our permission to marry her in the first place."

"You are on thin ice, Simms," Tavington growled.

"Perhaps. Still, its true enough. My cousin is a very wealthy young woman, she should marry the right man."

"And you think that I am not the right man for her?" He shot Joseph an incredulous glare.

"Not if you are thinking about leaving her, pregnant, alone and ruined."

Tavington sneered and turned his gaze back to the horses.

"Of course, you could do so, it is your right." Joseph continued in a taunting tone. "Leave her, unmarried and carrying your _bastard_."

The Colonel stiffened and began breathing heavily. "You need not fear that she would be forced to raise the baby on her own, Simms. I would take it as soon as its born, to be raised with Edward. I'll not have the siblings split from one another."

"Oh, I see," Joseph said insolently. He saw that the other mans rage was building again, but continued on relentless. "In that case, Lyra could return to Charles Town - my grandmother would welcome her, they have reconciled after all. But Lyra has not reconciled with my father, and when Grandmama dies, he will not have anyone influencing him to stay his hand."

Tavington snorted. "Lyra is stronger than that - Cole Simms would be no match for her."

"She is strong because you have made her that way, Colonel," Joseph snapped, getting angry now. "Make no mistake, if you leave her - and take not only her own child from her, but Edward as well - it will break my cousin. Break her - do you hear? To lose the man she loves _and_ her children! She will be broken and will not be able to stand up to my father then."

Tavington drew a sharp breath and tightened his lips.

"So what do you suggest?" He rounded on Joseph after a long pause. "I simply forgive her?"

"Yes!" Joseph shot back.

"I am not well known for my forgiveness!" Tavington growled.

"What of you and Mrs. Wilkins?" Joseph retorted. "Mrs. Selton as she was then. This has all come about because of what you did, will you accept no responsibility?"

"Carefully now boy," the Colonel's tone was low and threatening. "You will be in irons for insubordination."

Joseph snapped his mouth shut, breathing heavily with frustration. How to get _through_ to the man? An idea occurred to him and he seized on it.

"Fine, lets look at it from a different perspective, shall we?" He turned to face his Colonel, who stared at him with rage _and_ wariness. "You have decided you simply can not forgive her. You send her away, have the baby taken from her when it's born. Done and dusted. What then? You will be away campaigning, you can't raise two children! And so you will do what? Have nursemaids raise the children? Marry some woman - who is not the mother of _either_ of your children, and have her raise them?"

Tavington turned sharply and began to stride away. Joseph followed, plowing on relentlessly.

"Two, three years from now, word will come. Lyra has remarried and born a child of her own. What will you do then? Imagine it, Colonel - have a long hard think about it, because if you think I will allow _my cousin_ to remain unmarried after this, think again!"

Tavington stopped dead, tension in every line of his body. He whirled back to Joseph, his face like thunder. And still Joseph continued.

"She will not wile her life away, alone and pining for you. I will find her a decent husband - Richard Wilkins perhaps -"

"Over my dead body!" Tavington roared, stepping forward quickly, seeming ready to throw a punch or two.

"And why not? Richard is a good man, from a wealthy family. He is not married. I've known him my whole life, and if I have to chose a husband for Lyra, I would choose him before any other."

"You dare!" Tavington's leather gloves creaked as they tightened over his curled knuckles. "You will not -"

"You would have no say!" Joseph shouted back, not backing down an inch. "You are not her husband! You would be giving up all rights to her! As a soldier - a Green Dragoon myself, of course I would choose a fellow soldier for her! You would have to see her every day. You would know that she was sleeping on Richard Wilkins cot every night -"

Tavington's fist flew for Joseph's face. The younger Officer had been waiting for it, he blocked the punch. Tavington threw another punch - his right hook jabbing Joseph in the ribs. The Captain grunted, but still did not return the blows. The two came together like bears, Tavington's arms around the younger man, trying to knock him to the ground. Joseph hooked his foot under Tavington's boot, trying to trip him. The Colonel hissed and pulled his foot back, shoving his weight into the Captain. The two grappled at each other, breathing heavily as they laboured.

Sweat began to pour from Tavington's forehead, the wound in his side began to tear open. He had to stop, the pain was excruciating. Pulling back sharply, he shoved the younger man off him. Joseph stumbled back several steps, the two stood glaring at each other, red faced and breathing heavily.

"Has Wilkins expressed an interest in her?" Tavington snapped furiously, ready to do murder.

"No. But he is who I'd choose," Joseph retorted as he struggled for breath. "If you are too damned stupid not to keep her."

"She is my fiancé, Simms," Tavington hissed. "No one will marry her but me!"

"Glad to hear it," Joseph placed his hands on his thighs, leaning forward to catch his breath. "Christ, I'm no match for you, and you're wounded!"

"Remember that the next time you provoke me!" Tavington growled, pacing back and forth like a lion.

"Oh, give over, Colonel," Joseph said, standing up straight again. "You know fully well why I pushed you as I did. You needed to see what life would be like without her, for I would not allow her to go unmarried. You must know that! She will not be some old spinster, pining for her lost love. I assure you of that."

"I told you, I'll marry her," Tavington ground out.

"Yeah. I heard you," Joseph held out his hand, an offer of truce.

Tavington stared coldly at the proffered hand, but he finally relented. The two clasped hands and Joseph patted Tavington on the back.

"There - now go back and tell her you forgive her," the Captain commanded the Colonel.

"Forgive her," Tavington curled his lips. "Christ. I'm still too angry with her to forgive her."

"Then tell her that. Put the poor girl out of her misery, she's probably certain you're going to leave her. Tell her you're mightily furious, but that you will marry her. "

"Hmm," Tavington mused, an idea forming in his mind. He nodded calmly, though his body was still thwart with tension. "I believe I will."

He strode away, back toward the tents, leaving Joseph at the coral.

:::

Tavington jerked the canvas flaps aside and he strode into the tent.

Lyra was where he had left her, on her knees on the cot. She glanced up at him with a solemn expression.

Still filled with fury, he closed the distance between them quickly and glared down at her.

"I will not spurn you, Lyra. You are mine. The child you are carrying is mine and deserves its mother," he leaned over her and pinned her with his gaze. "But I will not allow you to dangle me on a string any longer. We will marry, within the week. If you deny me this, I will send you to Captain Wilkins plantation until you give birth, and then you will be sent on to Charles Town. _Alone_."

"William..." she breathed. "There is no need to give me such a terrible ultimatum. Dear Lord, if you are still willing to marry me, knowing my shame, then send for a Reverend and we'll do it this very moment!"

He was a little taken aback by her fervor, but he nodded sharply, taking her at her word.

"Very well, you will remain here while I organise the marriage license and the witnesses," he commanded, and ducked out of the tent yet again.

:::

A/N - again, thanks to Bain for all her help!

Lisette - I know, I prefer the stories where Bordon lives, myself. I'm glad you liked the rest of it - Curly rescuing Lyra for example :-)


	58. Chapter 58 - The Wedding

**Chapter 58 - The Wedding**

In no mood to stand on ceremony, Tavington marched out of the tent only to crash into Joseph Simms again.

"Christ!" The Colonel growled fiercely. "Don't you have tasks to be about? If you don't I can think of quite a few to assign to you!"

"My duties are never ending as you damned well know," Joseph replied. "With Bordon gone -"

"Shit." Tavington sighed heavily, deflating like a ballon. "Bordon."

"Just so. Wilkins and I are hard pressed without him but this is a family emergency and -"

"And he won't be at my wedding," Tavington tightened his lips, anger and grief seizing him at once. "Damn and blast it - that damned rebel Gabriel Martin stabbed Bordon in the stomach and there was not a Goddamned thing I could do about it!" Tavington had barely spoken of Bordon since learning of his death, but it all came pouring out now. "I was too far and that Reverend of Lyra's was in the way, blocking me from shooting Martin! To think, all those months ago, Lyra begged for the damned Reverend's life but if I'd killed him then, he would not have been in the way." He tossed his head, almost panting with grief and frustration. "I would have had a clear shot, could have killed the rebel bastard before he closed on Bordon, before he killed him!"

Joseph considered the Colonel in silence for several heartbeats.

"A lot of good people died that day, Sir," Joseph replied quietly. "It was battle. No one can be held to blame."

"You think I blame Lyra?" Tavington growled, cutting to the heart of Joseph's concern. "She has a woman's heart, all compassion. No, I blame myself."

"Well, you should not," Joseph affirmed. "It was battle. It could happen to any of us at any moment. Bordon will be missed, by us all."

"That he will," Tavington agreed heavily. "He was avenged, I will take comfort in that."

"Gabriel Martin is dead?" Joseph asked.

"Yes, he's the one who shot me," William rubbed his hand over the bandages covering the bullet wound, his entire side was ablaze with pain after his fight with Joseph. "Right after I shot that bloody Reverend Oliver. He was helping Martin - the both of them working against Bordon. Two on one, the damned cowards. Oliver smacked the handle of his rifle into Bordon's head, dazing him, which allowed Martin to stab..."

Tavington trailed off, his lips tight with fury as he struggled to control himself. He continued in a harsh tone. "By then Martin had finished Bordon off and he picked up the rifle the Reverend had intended to use to shoot me. I did not have enough time to reload my pistol before Martin aimed and fired," he glanced down at his side and rubbed his hand across the wound again.

"What happened then?" Joseph asked. The captain had not yet heard the details of the battle between the Green Dragoons and the rebels at the creek. "How did Gabriel die?"

William was silent for a moment, lost in the memory. "The force of the shot spun me around, before I knew it I was on the ground. I didn't move but he must have known I was not dead. He came over to finish the job but I was not inclined to let him and when he drew close enough I sheathed my sword in his guts." He patted at the saber at his side. "I still don't quite know how I mounted my horse but I managed to ride away as the goddamned Ghost arrived with another troop of rebels."

"Jesus, that was close."

"Very." Tavington said shortly. He peered at Joseph for several moments, before coming to a decision. "I would have had Bordon stand beside me at my wedding. It had always been my intention and I never considered that he might not be with me to do so. I am going to seek O'Hara out in a moment to ask him to be one of my witnesses, but as Bordon can't be here, I would like you to be my second."

Joseph stared at Tavington, wide eyed with shock. "You want me to stand with you at your wedding?"

"Yes, I can think of no one better. You and O'Hara."

"I'd be honored," the Captain breathed. "Yes, Sir, I accept."

"Good," Tavington said curtly. "I will ask O'Hara now and then I must organise the Reverend and the marriage licenses. Will you help Lyra to ready herself? Or perhaps you could ask some of the Officer's wives to help her?"

"Now?" Joseph said incredulously. "You're getting married _now_?"

"Yes. Your cousin has made me wait long enough," Tavington sniffed irritably. "We are getting married within the hour. Quietly now - I do not want a fuss. Your wife is not here, nor are Lyra's other companions - she will be marrying without them unfortunately. We might as well keep the ceremony small and quiet."

"Very well," Joseph, still wide eyed with shock, considered his options. Some of the Officers of the British Legion were married and their wives were in camp. The Captain decided on who he would approach out of his Loyalist acquaintances to assist his cousin prepare for her wedding, women she might like to stand with her during the ceremony. "I know of a few women in camp who would be suitable, I'll speak to them right away."

"Quietly!" Tavington reminded him firmly. "I will meet you back here in an hour or so."

One hour was not long enough to organise a wedding, but the two men hurried off in different directions, their long strides carrying them through camp to make the necessary preparations.

:::

Tavington paid a visit to one of the military's Reverend's, who agreed to perform the service. The man barely batted an eyelid at the suddenness of the wedding, having performed many ceremonies on such short notice in camp. At least the banns announcing William and Lyra's engagement had already been announced, which was enough ease the Reverend's need for formality.

After securing the Reverend, Tavington sought out his second witness. Brigadier General O'Hara joked that it should have been him marrying Lyra but he accepted Tavington's request graciously. They shared several glasses of wine before William left O'Hara with instructions to meet at the Colonel's tent, again repeating his request to keep the ceremony quiet.

His last order of business was the marriage license but as it would take the administrators some time to draw up the paperwork, Tavington decided to visit the medical tents and have his wound looked at. It was ablaze with pain, from his fight and all his striding about camp. Fortunately the wound had not split open - though it certainly felt as though it had. The doctor rubbed a numbing ointment on the wound and rewrapped the Colonel's bandages.

After collecting the marriage license, Tavington was finally all set to be married. He strode back to the Dragoon section of camp, feeling much calmer than he had all morning. By the time he returned his tent, he was almost back to his former self.

During the time he was gone from her, Lyra had done her best to freshen herself up. With the help of the women Joseph had selected, she had combed and pinned her hair, had even found a hat to wear - borrowed from one of the other Officer's wives. She had brushed the dirt from her skirts and bodice, even managed to clean her cape.

She was alone - tying a ribbon around the borrowed hat, when Tavington strode in and she glanced up at him apprehensively.

_It's not her fault, she's only flesh and blood._

The thought hit him like a bludgeon and he sighed heavily, knowing it was true.

Lyra's tension eased, she knew the Colonel well and correctly judged his rage had finally calmed. This thought was confirmed when, a moment later, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her - slowly and deeply.

Lyra fell against him with a sob, her arms around his back, clutching to him.

"I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "I love you, so much!"

"I know," he said softly. "You're only flesh and blood."

"You forgive me then?"

"I'm still angry as Hell, but I understand..."

"William..." Lyra bemoaned, clinging to him, she needed more from him than his understanding.

"Damn it - yes, I forgive you," he said with another heavy sigh. "That bastard. I'll kill him."

"I told him you would," she said quietly against his chest. "It's better this way, that you found out now. He was going to tell you, to taunt you with it, the next time you met."

"Was he, now?" Tavington curled his lip, his hands moved up and down her back gently. "What else did he tell you?"

"That if you spurned me, I was to come to him. That he would marry me."

Tavington stiffened. "Over my dead body," he growled.

"I never would have, William," she glanced up at him, catching his eye. "Never. And I told him as much. I saw right through him - he would have loved it - that ultimate revenge. I told him I would never allow it, I would rather live alone the rest of my life than to let his plan draw breath, knowing the pain and shame it would have bought to you."

"You told him that?" Tavington asked her gently and his lips quirked in a hint of a smile when she nodded. "I can't imagine he would have liked that very much."

"No, not one little bit. But he accepted it, and said he would settle for tearing us apart by telling you that I..."

She trailed off, not wanting to say it aloud so soon after their reconciliation. The words hung in the air between them, however.

_'By telling you that I felt pleasure in his bed.'_

"What a prize you would have made him," William sniffed. "My fiancé, becoming his wife. Bearing his children -"

"Well, the joke was on him, with me already pregnant."

"I know. But there would have been more children, after this one," he asked carefully, his suspicions roused. "I wonder - do you think he was becoming fond of you?" If so, William would use it. He would use any weapon in his arsenal against the Ghost.

"I think he might have been," Lyra said cautiously.

"Lyra, I've forgiven you," he said gently. He cupped her face, his expression earnest. "I just wish to know how he felt about you. The more I know about my enemy the better."

"You mean to use it against him, the way he would have used it against you?" Lyra said, cutting to the heart of it. Tavington rolled his eyes - it never failed to surprise him, how keen of mind his fiancé was.

"Can you blame me?" He asked her sharply. "After all this?"

"No, I can't blame you... Very well. There was this one time," Lyra paused, she did not want to describe the sexual act itself, when she was sitting astride Benjamin Martin and he told her he had been thinking about her all day. She did not want to lie to him, but she modified it anyway, leaving out the coupling. "When he returned from scouting and he told me he had been thinking about me all day."

Even that diluted telling made Tavington tense, she could hear him grinding his teeth.

"And I told him I was not his lover, but his captive. He got angry and said 'I know, just forget I said anything, whore'. And then there was the time he tried to kiss me and I wouldn't let him. He complained because Charlotte kissed you. But I didn't care - I wouldn't do it and he kept staring at me as though he wanted to try again."

"Hmm, I see," Tavington grated.

"Oh, another time -" Tavington groaned but Lyra continued. "No, it wasn't a kiss - it was something he said. He told me that you don't deserve me and asked why I stay with you. That night, he tried to cuddle when it was time to go to sleep. He had not done that before. So I think his regard was growing."

"I'd say it was," William smiled with self satisfaction. "I think I'll send the Ghost a little letter, he'll want to know that the two of us are married. Come to think of it, we should share our other happy news," he reached between them to rub her stomach. "That you are carrying my child."

"You're evil," Lyra said flatly, then reached up on the tips of her toes to kiss him. "Don't forget to send him Mrs. Tavington's regards."

"_I'm_ evil?" William chuckled.

"He should not have forced me to his bed - taking my honor away... He does not deserve my kindness. Curly and Skunk - now _they_ deserve my kindness! Did you find out if they got away in the raid last night?"

"No, I was a little preoccupied, angel," he reminded her. "Had a few other things on my mind."

"You know I'd never welcome another man to my bed, William," Lyra said intently. "Don't you?"

"Yes, I know," Tavington reassured her with a deep kiss.

::::::

A low hum could be heard outside the tent. Tavington drew back from the kiss, gazing at Lyra with a perplexed expression. He reached behind him and lifted the tent flap, dropping it back down with a groan.

"I said a _small_ wedding!" He muttered. "A _quiet_ wedding! It looks like the entire camp is out there!"

Lyra laughed and took a peek herself. "No... Just the Green Dragoons. And why shouldn't they witness their Colonel get married? The deserve it - they obey your every command and you aren't the easiest person to get along with."

"I'm not?" He arched an eyebrow at her and she snorted with derision.

"You know you're not!" She wrapped her arms around him again and gazed up at him. "So. This will not be a quiet wedding, honey. There are at least two hundred men out there."

"Sorry," Joseph muttered as he came into the tent. "It's not my fault. I asked those women to help Lyra and weddings always get women silly and excited."

"Silly?" Lyra asked dangerously. Joseph coughed with embarrassment, then continued all in a rush.

"They told their husbands, who told their fellow Officers and... Word just spread. Like wildfire."

"Wildfire..." Tavington sighed heavily. Accepting the situation had changed, he continued crisply, "well, I will not be able to hold the ceremony here in the tent now, as I had originally planned. There is not enough room."

"It's a lovely day - we can be married outside," Lyra suggested. William nodded agreement, there was nothing else for it.

The Reverend arrived at the same time as General O'Hara and the wedding took place a short time later outside Tavington's tent in order for his men to witness their commander as he married his beloved. Lyra's guard took pride of place in the front ranks, the rest of the Green Dragoons forming up rows behind them. Some of the upper Officers from the British Legion joined them, with their lower ranking troops behind, standing amidst the tents and facing the bride and groom. The three Officers wives who had helped Lyra to prepare for her wedding were to stand slightly behind her, while O'Hara and Joseph would stand on the other side of Tavington.

Before that could happen however, at Joseph's insistence, the Green Dragoons split down the middle forming an aisle for him to walk his cousin down, officially 'giving her away' to Colonel Tavington. As per Tavington's wishes, the ceremony was short and to the point, a military wedding and Lyra herself had no objections. Nevertheless, Joseph would not allow his cousin to marry without performing this small ritual.

He led Lyra away from the tent, making his way behind the troops. When a young Dragoon realised Joseph's intentions, he drew forth a harmonica from his pocket and began to play a familiar tune, a wedding march. Lyra, smiling up at her cousin, wound her arm through his and the two made their way up the aisle toward the waiting groom.

Joseph handed her arm to Tavington and took his place on the other side of O'Hara, then the ceremony began.

Lyra smiled up at William radiantly and as the Reverend began the ceremony. At his prompting, she repeated the vows in a strong, clear voice. William repeated his vows just as strongly, gazing down at his bride with a hint of a smile.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Colonel William Tavington, will you have this woman, Miss Lyra Mathan, to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I will," he called clearly to be heard over the hushed Dragoons.

"Then repeat after me. _I, Colonel William Tavington -_"

"I, Colonel William Tavington."

_"Take thee, Miss Lyra Mathan -"_

"Take thee, Miss Lyra Mathan."

_"To have and to hold, to love and to comfort -"_

"To have and to hold, to love and to comfort."

_"To honor and protect, until death do we part."_

"To honor and protect, until death do we part."

"And Miss Lyra Mathan, will you have this man, Colonel William Tavington, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I will," she said clearly.

"Then repeat after me. _I, Lyra Mathan -_"

"I, Lyra Mathan."

_"Take thee, Colonel William Tavington -"_

"Take thee, Colonel William Tavington -"

_"To have and to hold, to love and to comfort -"_

"To have and to hold, to love and to comfort."

_"To honor and obey, until death do we part."_

"To honor and obey, until death do we part."

"Then by the power vested in me by the lord our God and His Majesty King George, I now pronounce you man and wife. Congratulations, Colonel and Mrs. Tavington."

The assembled men were grave and quiet throughout the ceremony but when Tavington finally took his wife into his arms, kissing her soundly, the men cheered and yelled ribald suggestions which the Reverend affected to ignore.

Before mid afternoon, the celebrations began within the Dragoon camp. Violins and harmonicas were pulled out of saddle bags, and the troops struck up lively tunes, stamping their boots against the hard packed earth to a loud and quick beat. Lyra laughed as she was whirled about by the Officers. Other women - more wives and widows that followed the camp, joined in the festivities and Lyra lost track of how many of those she was introduced to. Tavington danced as well, he even managed to dance with his wife for a set or two, but his men were very demanding of Lyra's attention. Especially her guard, the score of men who had been frantic over the loss of their charge, had yet to reunite with her. They were well pleased, not only to be able to witness her marriage but to have had her returned safely to them.

A small amount of whiskey and wine was passed about among the senior Officers, while the troops made do with the cheap ale they usually drank. There was plenty of decent food however, thanks to General O'Hara who had been busy organising a decent wedding feast.

O'Hara had also organised an impromptu, but far more elegant wedding feast in the command tent. The Brigadier General escorted the newly weds to the command tent, where they sat down at table with Lord General Cornwallis and his many Generals and Aide de Camps and their wives. Many toasts were held in Tavington and Lyra's honor, but it was all very formal and Lyra found herself wishing she was back in the in the Dragoon camp with a tin plate on her lap and a tin cup in her hand rather than the fine porcelain and crystal set before her at the table.

Finally, their obligation to the General's complete, Lyra convinced Tavington to make their excuses and return the Dragoons where she could be herself again, rather than the Lady she was forced to be when in aristocratic company.

"Just a few minutes more, my angel, we do not want to appear rude," he murmured to her, but he kept his word and after a short duration he escorted her away.

However, he did not return her to the Dragoon's still dancing with their wives and the other women, instead he took her straight back to the tent he was to share with her. As they ducked inside, some of his men noticed his attempt to spirit Lyra away and before he even dropped the tent flap he heard their laughter and more ribald suggestions. He scowled at them half heartedly, then secured the canvas door and turned to face his wife.

She smiled up at him, almost shyly and he chuckled, the wine and ale making his head swim. Thoughts of bedding her now that they were married consumed him and without preamble he lifted her into his arms and deposited onto their cot.

:::::::::

**_A/N - I'm so, so, so, so sorry! For taking so long getting this chapter out. Its been a crazy busy weekend. I had intended to get this chapter out sooner but I wasn't satisfied with it so it needed to be re-written. I know, you're used to a chapter almost every day! But I simply did not like it at all. _**

**_Lisette and Smiley - I've agonised over the darn wedding scene, but as I'm not a particularly romantic person myself I couldn't bring myself to get too carried away. I hope you like the scene as it stands - nothing too over the top... :-)_**

**_To Jadis and the 'un-named' guest - again, sorry for taking so long! _**


	59. Chapter 59 - Consummation

_**A/N: A little bit of silly playfulness in this chapter. Forgive me!**_

_**:-)**_

_**::::::**_

**Chapter 59 - ****Consummation**

She smiled up at him, almost shyly and he chuckled, the wine and ale making his head swim. Thoughts of bedding her now that they were married consumed him and without preamble he lifted her into his arms and deposited to their cot.

Lyra gasped and swatted at him.

"Brute," she muttered as he lay along side her. "You just swore to love and comfort me, not toss me about like a sack of grain."

"I can do with you as I wish. You've sworn to obey me, until death do we part," he jeered. Lyra's eyes opened wide, feigning consternation.

"Oh, no, what have I done? Shit!" She cursed.

Tavington raised his eyebrows and smiled lazily.

"Vulgar," he murmured.

"Call the Reverend back, we must annul this wedding at once!" Lyra sat up, ready to rise. Tavington growled and pushed her back to the cot, pinning her beneath his weight.

"Hell no, I'll bind you to this cot if you try to leave now," he straddled her body, took hold of her wrists and pinned them above her head. "I think we better hurry up to the consummating so you won't have grounds to annul the marriage."

"Judging by how hard you are, I believe you are quite correct," Lyra replied with a smoky smile. "You'll leave a bruise on my thigh."

"Hmm, can you feel it?" Tavington smirked and began to rock his erection against her thigh.

"I could feel it before, you libertine," Lyra smiled. "Release my hands, my cretin."

"Not until I've had my wicked way with my wife," his eyes took on a mischievous gleam. All this talk of consummation had bought to mind their first time together, back when Lyra had been a frightened little creature and Tavington had taken her from that rebel woman's farmhouse. Tavington had used her insecurities and her need for protection to seduce her to his blankets. He had pleasured her first, for his own enjoyment and to introduce her to the pleasure of sex to make her more pliable.

He repeated the same words now that he had spoken that night so long ago.

"Now, my angel? My sweet devil, will you give yourself to me?" William asked her warmly and Lyra began to laugh at the memory his words bought to her mind.

Playing along, she tried to recall her answer from that night. With a feigned shiver, she whispered, "wait, please, we can't -"

"Come my sweet," he chuckled. "Such passion should not go to waste."

Lyra giggled.

As he did that first night, he began to drag her skirts higher, around her waist and his hand moved between her legs to cup her, his palm pressing and circling her folds and quim. She parted her legs with a satisfied sigh.

"Lyra," he admonished in a mock stern voice, "you're not playing along. Thats not how it happened - you were frightened, remember?"

"Oh, sorry," Lyra smiled, amused, and she closed her legs tight. Widening her eyes - all innocence - she said in an exaggerated and panicked voice, "please, _my Lord_, I'm _ever_ so nervous, will it hurt?"

Tavington threw his head back and laughed, a hearty, rich laugh - one Lyra rarely heard. "Christ! I had forgotten you called me 'My Lord'," he smiled down at her. "Why did you stop?"

"You're so full of yourself!" After a tart pause. "_My Lord._"

"I _am_ your Lord now," Tavington chuckled again, "your Lord and master."

She arched an eyebrow and he assumed his seductive expression again, continuing their playful reminiscence, "yes, darling it will hurt, but I promise to be gentle."

"The Hell you will!" she growled. "You will fuck me,_ my Lord and master, _as you did that first night. Because you are a brute. You will fuck me so that I can still feel it in three days time."

"Hmm," he gazed down at her lazily. However it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain his play acting - her words excited him, they _thrilled_ him. His voice was thick with need, a harsh rasp as he continued to repeat his words from that first night, "I thought I was getting a virgin, not a well trained, hot little whore. How disappointing."

Lyra smirked at him. "I seriously doubt you're disappointed, _my Lord._ Besides, you're the one who trained me." She stretched languidly, thoroughly enjoying herself. "What came next? Ah yes, you threatened to take me yourself first, then pass me around your men. Try it then, husband, and I'll call my guard in - and it will be _you_ enjoying the attention on _my_ Dragoons."

Tavington feigned a shiver of fear. "It seems you have me caught. Perhaps we should skip over the nastiness of that night, and move onto the next part. What was it again?"

"I believe," she took hold of his hand and placed it between her legs. "You pleasured me again."

"Hmm, perhaps you're right," he murmured and pressed his palm against her again. Small, slow circles and Lyra began to breath heavily against William's lips, her arms snaked around his neck to release his queue. She was soon lost to the sensation of having William's hands on her - her _husband's_ hands on her. This was how it should be. Tavington kissing her, his palm pressing against her quim. Her heart pounded when his tongue stroked hers, making her feel light headed, dizzy with want.

"It's a good thing I'm laying down," she whispered against his lips. "I think I would faint and fall."

"I'd catch you," he whispered back, his mouth drifting down to her jaw and she turned her head to the side as Tavington moved her hair aside to kiss her neck. When he pressed his palm down harder she moaned and pushed her pelvis up for more. "That's it, my sweet," he smiled, continuing to repeat words from their first coupling. "Let it build. My little vixen," he shifted higher and whispered into her ear, "My hot little -"

He paused deliberately and Lyra began to laugh. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she waited to see if he would finish his sentence with 'whore' or 'angel'.

"Angel," he whispered. "My beautiful angel."

Lyra rolled her eyes Heavenward. "Aren't you the old softy then?"

"Only with you," he murmured in reply. She smiled brightly and ran her hand down his chest, over his stomach, to begin tackling his belt buckle. By unspoken agreement, the married couple sat up and began disrobing one another, slowly and silently until they were naked on their cot. Lyra glanced down to take a good, long look at William's heavy erection, a tension between her legs building at the sight of him.

"Your mouth on me, now," he smirked and Lyra giggled.

"But I've never done that before," she said with exaggerated sweetness and batted her eyelids up at him, all innocence.

"The hell you haven't," he laid back on the cot and pillowed his head on his arms as Lyra straddled his thighs. She pushed her hair behind her ears and leaned down to take him into her mouth.

"Hmm," he sighed with pleasure, his fingers of one hand winding through her hair, his other hand caressing her bare back lazily. His heart raced and the tingle of pleasure at the base of his erection flared with warmth, building almost to unbearable heights. She alternated suckling and licking him, until he felt sure he would scream. "My wife... Christ, you're killing me."

"Oh, I know," Lyra gasped. "I can't wait anymore, William!"

"I believe I was the one to say that," his amused tone dripped sex and lust as he watched her edge up his body to straddle his hips. "We're about to consummate our marriage, Mrs. Tavington. Are you nervous?"

"Hmm hmm," she replied absently as she took hold of his cock to guide it inside of her, impaling herself onto his considerable length. "Very."

She groaned as he filled her, he gripped her hips and growled with pleasure. He had the presence of mind to repeat one more statement from their first night together, though he altered the wording slightly.

"I am going to fuck you now, my wife. I won't be able to stop once I've begun."

Her fingers gripped into his chest and she began to move. "I won't stop you, William. Fuck me -" she leaned down to his ear and whispered, "my husband."

"Christ," he pushed his pelvis up and all further thought fled.

Their lovemaking was hard, fast, and very fulfilling. William moved his hands up to her waist, holding her tight and guiding her up and down. Lyra's hair fell over her shoulders, covering her breasts. William, needing to suckled her, shoved her hair aside, he sat up and took one nipple into his mouth, teasing with his tongue. Jolt of pleasure shot along Lyra's spine and she threw her head back, gasping above him. She held onto his shoulders and lifted herself up, bearing down hard onto his ample length.

William grunted with pleasure. With one hand still holding her waist, he extended his other arm back behind his body, bracing himself to shove his cock hard up into her. Panting, his heart pounding as Lyra lifted herself and shoved back down, a continual and fluid movement to bring them both closer.

With a heavy growl he wrapped his arms around her waist and turned with her, laying her to the cot and pinning her with his weight. She wrapped her legs around him and he snapped his hips back and forth, quick fluid motions that set Lyra's pulse to race.

She bucked beneath him, her moans growing louder. Her fingers clutched at his buttocks, driving him on. His lips sought hers and their tongues dueled and writhed, their breath mingling as they moaned into each other's mouth. They were still kissing, frantically and possessively as their orgasms finally crashed over them, leaving them sated and fulfilled.

William continued to kiss her, more gently now, as she stroked her fingers through his dark hair. After timeless moments the pain in his wound began to make itself known again, he withdrew his spent member from her bodies warmth and laid down beside her, his dark hair mingling with her white tresses on the pillow.

They both stared at the ceiling of the tent, breathing heavily as they calmed, side by side. Then Lyra turned her head to him and sensing her movement, he turned his face to hers.

"Well," she said. "All consummated. No annulment, there is no going back now."

William snorted. "As if there ever was." She smiled and wound her fingers through his, then rolled onto her side.

"We're married now, can this be our new beginning? Can we forget everything bad that's happened?"

He knew she was still asking for his forgiveness, William nodded and pulled her into his arms.

"I've done as much to hurt you, but you are my wife now," he sighed heavily, content to be holding her. "And yes, this is our new beginning."

Lyra breathed deeply with relief and contentment. She draped her leg over his and the two fell asleep in each other's embrace.

:::

Tavington woke to a darkened tent, night had well and truly fallen. It was still early enough for others to be awake, he could hear people talking, someine still playing a harmonica nearby. He disentangled himself from his wife's embrace, and left her sleeping on their cot to light some candles.

Still half asleep, he picked up a quill and parchment preparing to write a note to Bordon to gather the Dragoons at first light for a training exercise.

The memories came crashing back, of the skirmish and Captain Bordon's death and it hit him like a blow to the stomach. Except for the brief moments he had spent describing the skirmish to Joseph, there had been too much to deal with earlier to sit down and deal with Bordon's death.

Now, in the silence of the tent, it all came crashing back to him. He threw the quill down and ran his hands over his head, drawing a deep, ragged breath. So many had died along the way, but Bordon had been with him from the beginning. They had saved one another's lives so often, and worked together so well. All gone now, Bordon was dead.

His thoughts turned to Mrs. Margaret Bordon and their daughter, Lydia - the little babe that would never know her father. And Mrs. Bordon herself - Christ. She loved her husband dearly and Tavington knew the news would leave her distraught. He felt guilty for not returning to the plantation to give her news of her husband's death in person as she had deserved but the army was on the move, making its push for North Carolina and he was needed where he was.

Lyra sighed and turned over on the cot. Tavington gazed at her in the candlelight, his beautiful angel, his wife. With sudden inspiration, he picked up the quill again to begin writing a new note, this one addressed to the Ghost, Benjamin Martin. He curled his lip as he wrote, fury filling him all over again. Finally he signed his name to the letter and sealed it, he would have it sent it in the morning.

For now, he climbed into the cot beside his wife.

"You're cold," Lyra protested sleepily as he took her into his arms.

"Hmm, and you're like a little bread oven," he snuggled closer, stealing her warmth, his hands moving over her body, arousing her until they were kissing and coupling all over again.

::::::::

marriage to Lyra

so you wished to marry her?

:::::::::

_Ghost,_

_By now you must be aware of Corporal Martin's death, another son of yours to die at my hand. As I am a Gentleman I feel it my duty to inform you that he died well. Though I admit I am regretful I ended his life so quickly - if I had seen the damage he had done my Lyra beforehand, I would have ensured he had died as slowly and as painfully as possible. _

_Lyra has told me some of what occurred while she was your captive, of your attempt to get a child on her and your desire to marry her. Allow me to explain to you why your plot would not have worked. You see, what Lyra failed to mention to you was that she is already with child. My babe has been growing inside her for some three months now, so your efforts to sire your bastard on her were in vain. _

_And you wished to marry her? My dear fellow, if you had succeeded in marrying her you would not have enjoyed her for long, I assure you. I would have hunted you down. I would have killed you and made my Lyra a widow._

_As it is, I will meet with you soon - I damned well hope. When our two armies collide, as we both know they must, I hope and pray that fate or God - either one, brings us together on the field of battle. We shall end this farce, for once and for all. _

_Colonel William Tavington_

_Post script: Mrs. Lyra Tavington sends her regards. _

:::::

Benjamin lowered the letter, his eyes cold with anger and hatred.

And grief.

Gabriel was dead, the boy had died in his father's arms.

The Butcher had killed him.

Tavington's missive slipped from his nerveless fingers and Danvers picked it up from the ground. When the Colonel made no protest, he read through the letter quickly.

"So," Danvers said calmly, "he married his whore."

"And she was already with child," Benjamin replied. "It explains why she was eating so much - I should have known."

"Yes, you should have. We all should have. Christ! What missed opportunities!" Danvers began to rage. "If not for your mad plan to sire a child on her, we all could have taken a turn with her! Just think of it Ben. Each and every one of us, she would have been broken and ill used - possibly near to death! And the baby... It would not have survived, I would have made certain of it!"

He fell silent, breathing heavily with pent up frustration.

"Yes," Benjamin said quietly. "That would have unhinged Tavington like nothing else."

"Yes, it would have!"

"But it would not bring Gabriel back. My son and the other militiamen still would have raced off to find the Dragoons. They still would have died."

"Perhaps," Danver's continued to pace, stiff and tense. "You shouldn't have kept her all to yourself. Do you think you're the only one whose been hurt by that Butcher bastard? My wife was raped! I should have been allowed my revenge but no - you grew fond of the little chit!"

"Danvers," Benjamin's tone was cold and dangerous. "My goal was to cause pain to the Butcher, and having Lyra for those few days, bedding her as I did - and then Gabriel beating her - believe me, we caused him pain!"

"Not enough!" Danvers snapped savagely. "Not when it means he's still free - and he has a little wife now with another fucking Tavington on the way!"

Benjamin said nothing, for it was quite true - he had lost Lyra, lost their only means to cause the Butcher any real pain.

"And you were thinking of marrying her?" Danvers shook the note under Benjamin's nose. "What the Devil was that about? You never said anything about marrying her to us!"

"It would have bought Tavington to his knees if I had married Lyra," Benjamin grated.

"Agh, bullshit. You were growing too fond of her, that's what! And look where it got us!"

"No point lamenting over 'what if's'," Curly murmured and Skunk nodded agreement.

"I would still like to know how she got away from here," Danvers glared at Curly, making it clear where his suspicions lay. "She would not have been able to walk out of here, not after the beating Gabriel gave her! I don't care how empty the camp was when we all took off after Gabriel!"

"We told you, she got away when the Dragoons raided the camp," Skunk protested. "They rescued her."

"Oh, cock and bullshit," Danvers growled.

"What are you suggesting, Danvers?" Curly's voice was quiet and filled with murderous intent.

"She had help leaving, thats what! And not from the Green Dragons - Murray said she was already gone from the camp!" His glance took in Curly and Skunk both. "The two of you, you two were mighty fond of the girl!"

Curly lurched to his feet, his face like thunder. "You accuse me of turning coat?" he snapped. Danvers lurched forward as well, but suddenly Benjamin was in between them, his voice cracking like a whip.

"Enough! Save it for the battlefield! The Redcoats are our enemy, we will not fight amongst each other!"

He glared balefully at both Danvers and Curly though his gaze lingered on Curly for several moments.

Murray - one of his men who had managed to escape during the raid claimed that Lyra had already fled the camp before the Green Dragoons ambushed them. He, Dan Scott and a few other fellows had gone into Martin's tent to take their fury over Pembroke out on Lyra, only to find the tent empty.

When Benjamin challenged them, Skunk told him that he had taken Lyra out of the tent for her own safety, that he had been watching her in the woods. When the Green Dragoons attacked, they found Lyra and Skunk said he barely got away with his life. Unfortunately with no proof, it came down to Murray's word against Skunk and Curly's. Nevertheless, Benjamin suspected the men of assisting Lyra from the camp but there was nothing he could do now. He had already lost too many men, he could not afford to lose Skunk and Curly.

Besides, Lyra was gone, and that was an end to it.

"Leave me, all of you," he said, his voice filled with disgust and the sullen men filed out from the tent.

Mrs. Tavington, and already bearing the Butcher's bastard. Benjamin sighed heavily as he glanced around the tent he had forced the girl to share with him.

Christ, she had been a beautiful, lively thing. A very fine distraction from the war. She had been right, though he had tried to deny it - he had begun to think of her as a lover, rather than a captive. When he had suggested they marry it had been because he wanted a decent woman to help him raise his children, a young woman who would bear him more. His motive had not only been driven by his need to cause Tavington pain.

Lyra would have made him a very fine wife. One already familiar with his children, one who kept him on his toes waiting to see what she would say or do next while he held her captive. And the bedding! He strongly believed he had been more sated with Lyra, than he ever had with Charlotte.

Dear Lord - Tavington did not deserve such a creature.

But she was gone now. Escaped him, he would never know her touch again, never feel her soft lips or her hands on his cock, never be able to stroke inside her heat again. Never feel her buck wildly against him, nor listen to her pant.

_"Oh, dear Lord. I fear I will die!" _Her words haunted him, he could almost hear them, mocking his longing for her. He could almost smell her scent lingering on the air.

Gone, all gone. Thomas, Charlotte, Gabriel.

And now Lyra.

All taken from him by the Butcher.

No more dancing around each other. In this, Lyra had been correct. The two would fight, Tavington needed to be put down like the rabid dog he was.

A cold, frigid calm came over him. He became as focused and taut as a drawn arrow. They would meet on the field of battle, Benjamin would make certain of it.


	60. Chapter 60 - The Battle of Cowpens

**Chapter 60 - The Battle of Cowpens**

Edward's snuffling noises woke Tavington. The Colonel lifted himself onto his elbow to peer into the little bassinet placed at Lyra's head. He reached over Lyra and pulled back Edward's wrappings, making certain the blankets were not covering his son's face. The boy was sleeping soundly, he did not seem any worse for wear from the journey to camp from Wilkins plantation several days earlier.

Tavington gazed at Edward's sleeping face for several moments, finding he had missed his son. And Lyra had certainly missed him, she had burst into tears as soon as the boy was placed in her arms.

Satisfied that Edward was fine, William pulled his sleeping wife into his arms and tried to return to sleep. He was just dozing off when Cornwallis and O'Hara darted into the tent, O'Hara holding a lantern aloft to light his way.

Tavington raised onto his elbow again, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. It must be serious indeed, if Cornwallis had come in person, rather than sending an Aide de Camp to summon Tavington to the command tent.

"Burwell's force," O'Hara began without preamble, though he pitched his voice low to not wake Lyra and Edward. "Has been sighted, close to Broad River. You will need to travel through the night -"

"What time is it?" William asked, he still had his hand on his sleeping wife's waist.

"Close to 1am. You will need to travel hard to catch up to him in any reasonable amount of time."

"If I am quick, I might be able circle around Burwell, maneuver him back this way to trap him between my force and yours," Tavington mused. "He will have to cross the rivers to avoid me and the water is running high." He was already planning how to cross them in that eventuality.

"It will be slow going," Cornwallis agreed quietly. "But you will be provided with all that you need."

Tavington, having donned his breeches and shirt, pulled his Redcoat around his shoulders, all the while thinking quickly of what he would need.

"My British Legion, of course. I want the 17th Light Dragoons as well. A battery of the Royals, with one 3-pounder canon -"

"You may have two of those," Cornwallis agreed.

"Excellent, thank you my Lord," Tavington continued with his demands as he pulled on his boots. "The light infantry of the 16th, and the 71st regiment."

"Major Arthur MacArthur," Cornwallis nodded. "Good choice. What else?"

"The Loyalist Prince of Wales American regiment and a company of Loyalist guides."

"Easily done," O'Hara approved. "I will see to it." He handed Cornwallis the lantern and left the tent, as Tavington pulled his sword belt on and picked up his pistols.

"You are an exemplary soldier, Colonel Tavington, as you have proven time and again," Cornwallis eyed the younger man, tilted his head to the side to consider him. "That unpleasantness at Pembroke - you could be forgiven for that, if you win this battle."

"I was not aware it needed forgiving, my Lord," Tavington said, stiff and prim. "I was free of the chain of command, if you recall."

Cornwallis leaned in close, the two facing off over Lyra's sleeping body.

"I stand on the eve of the greatest victory of my career, don't fail me," Cornwallis confronted quietly.

"My efforts in no small measure have bought you here!" Tavington defended himself, just as quietly.

"I grant you that small measure," Cornwallis conceded. The Lord General, whose mood had been foul for most of the evening, could not be mollified. "But you have failed to deliver the Ghost to me."

"Thus far," Tavington murmured, somewhat embarrassed over his failure. "I must object to your concerns however, you are well aware that I have never lost a battle, my Lord."

"True," Cornwallis replied coolly and held Tavington's gaze. "If I had any doubt that you could do this, MacArthur would be in charge, not you. I am afraid I am allowing my nerves to get the better of me. Nevertheless I must make this abundantly clear to you, Colonel, just how important this battle will be. If we are the victors, we have won the war. Do you understand?"

Tavington nodded. Of course he understood - the better part of the Continental's force could be decimated in one sweep! Cornwallis continued, his tone still reflecting his doubts.

"North Carolina will be ours for the taking. You must admit that your actions of late have been... erratic. You have always had a temper, but lately you have let it rule you. You can not do this in battle, you must keep a calm, level head. Surely you know this?"

"I do, my Lord," Tavington replied in a calmer tone. He had had reason to become erratic after all, Lyra's capture had almost unhinged him. He stared down at her now, but did not voice his thoughts or excuses to Cornwallis. Lyra was safe now, he could keep a level head.

Cornwallis, however, was far more astute than Tavington gave him credit for.

"She will be safe, Colonel. Your son also - no harm will come to them here. No one will make off with Mrs. Tavington again, I will ensure it myself."

Tavington breathed out a heavy breath, and nodded. "Thank you, my Lord. She will come looking for me in the morning -"

"I will explain everything to her, never fear."

"Very good." Tavington bent over the cot and kissed his wife's brow, then his sons, and left the tent without a second glance. Cornwallis followed more slowly, joining O'Hara outside the tent. The two commanders waited calmly as Tavington barked his orders and pulled his forces together. Finally, at 2am, Tavington saluted and led his force from the edge of camp, riding hard to meet the Continental force.

:::::

Several days ago, the Patriot militia had joined with the Continentals, and the two forces had been marching hard to avoid Colonel Tavington, whose considerable force was harrying them, clearly trying to maneuver Burwell toward the slower moving forces of Lord General Cornwallis.

General Harry Burwell and Colonel Benjamin Martin had been left with no choice but to retreat across country toward Broad River. If they wished to avoid being trapped between Cornwallis and Tavington, they needed to choose a place to make a stand against the Butcher, far enough from Cornwallis that the British General was not able to offer aid. The two Patriot commanders had poured over maps of the area and decided on a large pastureland with rolling hills, very close to the River itself.

For the last day the Continentals and Patriot militia had marched hard to reach the desired location and begin preparations for the battle that was sure to follow.

The location chosen was a large field where the local populace gathered twice a year to pen their cows for auction. Instead of thriving auctions and markets, instead of men and women strolling along selling and buying, talking and laughing and sharing news, the fields would soon be the scene a very large battle between the British and Americans forces. The fields would soon be awash with the blood of the dead and dying.

Burwell had chosen the pastures from a strategic standpoint. So far, the untrained militia had proven to be less than reliable in battle, turning to flight as soon as a battle commenced, thus abandoning the Continental Regulars to their fate. To prevent Benjamin's militia from fleeing, Burwell positioned his ranks in such a way that Broad River was kept at his armies back. This would make it impossible for Benjamin's militia to retreat, for the river was far too deep and wide to cross.

Benjamin felt a pang of remorse for his men, his militia, knowing that they would have no choice but to stand and fight. There would be no running, not this time.

Burwell began to explain his battle plan at once, to reassure his oldest friend.

"I will place my infantry on that hill, over yonder," he waved his hand in the direction of a low hill - another reason for choosing these pastures to make their stand.

"That will leave your flanks exposed," Benjamin said quietly.

"Yes, but when he gets here, Tavington will attack head on. I will set up three lines of soldiers, there -" he waved his arm again, "sharpshooters. There," he waved again, "militia. And there, the main force forming up the third line - they will be invisible to Tavington - he will not know they are there. You will be in command of the militiamen, of course."

Benjamin nodded slowly, "it could work..."

"I will not tell them to stand and fight, Ben, have no fear. I will ask your men to fire two volleys, and then withdraw around to the left, and they can reform and take cover behind the third line, which will be comprised of my best troops. They will be undercover of my light Dragoons. Furthermore, the movement of the militia in the second line will mask the third line comprised of my Continentals. This, as I said, will make the Continentals invisible to Tavington."

"It's not very conventional but... Yes... This will work!" Benjamin said, his enthusiasm growing. He could almost invision the battle, the lines moving behind each other, covering and masking their movements. "Tavington will ride in there -" he pointed. "And we will be able weaken his force for they will be attacking uphill! Once weakened, we will be able to attack and defeat them utterly. They will not know what hit them, they will be confused and weary. The Butcher has been pushing hard these last few days to catch us, judging by how much he has gained on us I doubt he has been allowing his forces to rest. Their horses will be tired, the men exhausted!"

"Easy pickings," Burwell smiled calmly.

"Let us hope," Benjamin said wisely. "A battle plan only lasts until the first shot is fired, Harry."

"This will work, Ben," Burwell countered in a firm tone.

"Yes, I believe it will. I will take command of the third line, of your Continentals."

"Ben, I need you in charge of the militia -"

"No, Danvers will lead them," Benjamin stared his commander down. "Do you think I am foolish? You wish me to command my militia from the sides, to keep me out of the actual fighting. This thing between Tavington and I has gone on for too long, and has gone too far. I will ensure I meet him on this battlefield, Harry. I will take command of the third line."

"You are dangerously close to insubordination, Colonel Martin," General Burwell said quietly.

"No," Benjamin corrected, "I _am_ being insubordinate, plain and simple. Your decision? Sir."

Burwell considered him for several moments, then drew a heavy breath.

"Very well, you have command of the third. But I vow, Martin, if you get more men killed than absolutely necessary so you can be in position to have your own private duel to the death with the Butcher, I will string you up myself. _If_ you are stupid enough to survive."

"Yes, Sir!" Benjamin said, and saluted smartly.

:::::::::

Wilkins and Simms exchanged a careful glance, though both Captain's were worried as MacArthur faced off against Tavington.

"That is a sound plan, Colonel," MacArthur said in his scottish brogue. "The men are tired, however. And they need feeding."

"That can not be helped," Tavington snapped. They had run out of food two days ago, the remainder of their rations depleted. "Unless you suggest we postpone the battle, allow the enemy so slip away while we hunt and forage for food?" He arched an eyebrow and MacArthur held his silence. "Very well, we go ahead as planned." He pointed to his map. "Most of the infantry will assemble in linear formation here - and drive directly at Burwell. The right and left flanks will be protected by the Dragoon units. Your highlanders will be held in reserve, Major. Finally, when the Yankees break and run, the two-hundred man cavalry of my Legion will be unleashed upon them." He looked up and pinned MacArthur with a steely glance. "Do you oppose?"

"You know I do not, Sir. I am merely concerned with how exhausted the men are."

"Yes, and how hungry," Tavington sniffed, showing his frustration. "Once the battle is done, we will have access to the rebel's stores of food. It will be over quickly, and then we can all rest, and fill our stomachs. As I said, there is no help for it now - I will not risk losing them again. We fight."

Tavington strode away from the Major, his mind only on the victory of the coming battle.

:::::::::::

_A battle plan only lasts until the first shot is fired._

Tavington snarled down at the rebel attacking him from the ground and swiped his sword through the air, cutting the mans arm off cleanly at his elbow. The man screamed and fell to the ground. Pistol and musket fire exploded continually around him, the smoke making it difficult to see a damned thing. He had no time to wonder how it all went wrong, to wonder when it all fell to pieces, but there was not a doubt in his mind, he was fighting a losing battle.

He screamed across the field, commanding Wilkins to bring the Green Dragoons together, and organised another approach against the enemy line. And again, the rebels held, pushing the Dragoons back, firing into them, killing and taking yet more captives.

It was a rout, to stay was to die. MacArthur had been taken prisoner, and the 71st were already falling apart without him - most of them had been taken as well. His infantry had been decimated, exactly half his men killed in the first charge. How long ago was that, he wondered? He glanced up at the sky but the sun had barely moved - not even forty five minutes and the battle was almost over. It reminded him of Camden - but that had been a victory for the British where as this, this was a devastating defeat already. Although he fought on, he knew the battle was over.

Tavington had barely survived the Virginian bayonet charge, he still wondered how the Hell he had gotten out of that alive and unwounded! The shock of their sudden charge, of mounted Virginian cavalry where his troops had expected to see their own British relievers. It had proven too much for his battle hardened men, and nearly half of the troops fell to the ground whether they had been wounded or not. Tavington screamed orders, trying to rouse them, screamed promises of victory, threats of hanging, but nothing would stir them, their will to fight had been stripped from them.

And so now, Tavington was fighting in the thick of battle trying to cover the retreat for the rest of his force. He had been shouting retreat until he was hoarse, and Wilkins had taken up the cry. The two fought side by side, with Captain Joseph Simms and Lieutenants Wilkins and Wentworth nearby. All with their own small units, trying to buy time for their troops to retreat to safety.

He had lost his two canons early on and his attempt to retrieve them had come to naught. Now all he thought about was saving the last vestiges of his forces. More of his Green Dragoons surrounded him, coming from all corners of the field. It was too late nevertheless. The enemy began to push forward, a large surge.

That was when Tavington saw him.

The Ghost, leading this enemy unit directly toward Tavington's own.

He did not stop to think of the implausibility of finding Benjamin Martin in this mayhem and carnage. With a scream of rage, Tavington charged forward, his sword held aloft, his eyes pinned on the Ghost. His men shot after him like arrows and the two forces clashed together.

:::::

Tavington, his face twisted in an ugly snarl, galloped his horse straight for Martin - hell bent on trampling the man. Too late Tavington saw Martin spear his flag into the ground, a stake to skewer Tavington's horse. The Colonel could not twist aside in time and the charger's gallop was stopped suddenly. With a scream of pain, the horse was speared in the barrel of its chest. The forward momentum sent Tavington hurtling over the neck of his mount and he landed heavily on the ground. He rolled several yards before climbing to his feet dazed. He whirled about searching for the Ghost, only to stare down the barrel of the pistol Benjamin had sited on him a few yards away.

A loud blast and white hot pain flared in Tavington's arm, he glanced at the blood spurting from his wound and shifted his gaze to Benjamin, William's face twisted in a sneer. The two men launched at each other, weapons raised, bloodlust and fury firing through their very veins. The fighting raged around them. The air was filled with pistol fire and smoke, horses screaming, men cursing and moaning.

The two Colonel's were oblivious to all of it, bent on killing each other.

They crashed together, both snarling like wolves, the sharp teeth of their weapons trying to draw the first blood. Tavington swung his sword with lethal precision, Martin blocked him, blow for blow with his tomahawk. The sheer fury of Tavington's attack pushed Martin back several yards, his sword arm swinging up, around - cutting in below then high again. He was a blur of movement and Martin was hard pressed to match him.

Finally Martin found an opportunity to hold his ground, then he was able to press forward and it was Tavington who was pushed back several yards under the fury and onslaught of Martin's attack. Even still, Tavington drew first blood. With a quick upper cut, he smacked his fist into Martins jaw, twisting the other man around to the side, he followed through with a swipe of his saber, slicing Benjamin's arm. The Ghost bellowed with pain and a gleeful Tavington squatted to yank free a knife from a dead man's kit. He was smiling murderously when he stood, Martin had recovered enough to draw his sword.

Both men wielded two weapons now, each wanting to do the other as much damage as possible. Both were breathing raggedly, equal measures of their exertions and a berserkers rage. Too winded to waste breath on taunts, they wordlessly took the measure of one another, both gripping their weapons, before crashing together again.

Martin smacked his forehead into Tavington's face, and the British Colonel reeled. Martin closed in quickly, but Tavington blocked his sword strike. They pushed against one another, chest to chest, their sharp weapons a hairs breadth from killing the other. Equal in strength they pushed at each other then jerked away at the same moment, ending the stalemate. Their weapons flashed, causing many deep and bloody cuts, and they crashed together again in another frustrating stalemate. Again they jerked away from one another, and as Martin turned, Tavington finally had an opening, he sliced his sword painfully along the Ghosts back.

Martin screamed and fell to his knees. He struggled to rise, dazed and weakened with pain. Tavington was still very much alert. He could have ended the fight then if he'd had a mind to but William wanted to draw this fight out. Instead of going in for the killing blow, Tavington caught Benjamin's tomahawk with his sword and sent it flying across the field.

Benjamin rose slowly, too slowly. Tavington swiped his saber, cutting along the Ghosts chest, then swiped back down, cutting into his back. Benjamin screamed again, blood loss and pain causing him to tire quickly, there was not much left to him now. He dropped to his knees as Tavington circled around him from behind, his cold bloodthirsty eyes never leaving the kneeling Ghost.

As he stepped up to deal the killing blow, Tavington took his time to survey the battlefield with disgust and fury. His Dragoons fought on valiantly, but it was time to accept that the battle was over, time to withdraw. Rage caused him to sneer and he lowered his gaze to his enemy kneeling before him.

"Kill me before the war is over will you?" He taunted coldly, remembering the others threat when they met under parlay at Fort Carolina. "It appears that I am the better man."

Martin said nothing, his gaze focused on the great Patriotic army, its many troops rushing on past, some of them holding flags of the Old Glory aloft, waving them in celebration though the battle was not quite over. He heard Tavington's words however.

"You should thank me for this, Ghost," Tavington continued as he adjusted his hold on his sword, preparing for the killing stroke. "I'm freeing you from your grief. You've lost your sons to me, you've lost your fiancé to me, and you've _certainly_ lost Lyra to me."

With a vicious expression, Tavington raised his sword up and back, he took several running steps closer, trying to put as much energy into the blow as possible.

He swung his arm down, the sword whistled through the air. Before it could meet flesh, Benjamin dropped to the side. He twisted and pushed his sword deeply into Tavington's stomach. Tavington eyes bulged and he dropped to his knees, too shocked to hear Joseph Simms scream of "Tavington's down! To the Colonel!"

Martin did not seem to notice the scream either, he was focused on Tavington with deadly intent. The two Colonel's were now both on their knees facing one another. Tavington, prone with pain and shock was unable to move.

"My sons were better men than either of us," Benjamin finally replied as he reached for a dagger laying nearby. "As for Lyra, she deserves better than you," he continued as he placed the tip of the dagger to Colonel Tavington's throat. "I will come to make her see the truth of it. Not right away perhaps, but eventually she will thank me for freeing her."

He spoke the words, his face curled with bloodlust, his dagger poised at the British Colonel's throat ready to deliver the killing stroke.

:::::::

_A/N: In case you are wondering why I didn't refer to the 'pasture area' as Cowpens in the story, it is because I do not believe the area was called Cowpens until after the battle took place. I could be wrong... But even if it was called Cowpens already, the coming battle would not have been referred to as Cowpens until after it had been fought..._

_Lisette - thanks for reviewing! I understand, we all get busy with life and all! As long as you're still reading, I'm happy! I'm glad you liked the chapter. Good luck with softball - I hope you are thrashing the other teams! _


	61. Chapter 61 - Wounded

**Chapter 60 - Wounded**

Benjamin shoved his dagger forward but before he could do more than nick into Tavington's throat, he was tackled bodily to the ground. The Ghost stared up at young Joseph Simms with shock, finally realising the man held his dagger aloft and was about to stab him.

"You raped her!" Joseph screamed and bought the dagger down toward Benjamin's stomach. The Ghost twisted, then bellowed with pain as the dagger sunk into his fleshy side. Joseph continued to scream as he pulled the dagger out, Benjamin fought him as best as he could though his battle with Tavington had left him drained. "My cousin! You dared to touch her!" Joseph landed another stab and Benjamin grunted his strength draining from him.

"Joseph," a voice croaked, not far from him. The Captain spun around, his eyes landing on Tavington. Thoughts of the Ghost fled as he saw the severity of William's stomach wound. He stumbled to his feet, leaving Benjamin to his fate, and dropped at Tavington's side.

"Colonel! Can you hear me? Christ, your neck!" He unwound his own scarf and wrapped it around Tavington's throat in an attempt to protect the wound. There was so much blood everywhere, he could not tell how deeply Benjamin's dagger had cut. "Can you speak?"

"Sound the... retreat..." Tavington managed to croak as Joseph hauled him to his feet.

"Yes Sir!" He began to lead Tavington to a horse, screaming 'retreat' at the top of his lungs all the while. Tavington grimaced with pain and clutched at his stomach, his gloved hand was quickly covered with blood.

"What of the Ghost?" Joseph asked.

Tavington looked back at Benjamin, now being helped up to his feet by several rebels. The two had bloodied each other severely and might well die of their wounds yet, but for now both would walk away from the field of battle.

"Leave... Him..." Tavington groaned out. "You saved... My life."

"None of that now, Sir," Joseph tightened his hold on the Colonel, almost stumbling under the other man's weight. "We need to get you out of here, can you sit your horse?"

As if in answer Tavington fell heavily to his knees, his vision darkening.

"Fuck," he heard Joseph mutter. "Lyra will kill me - you hear! If you die here, I'm as good as dead, so get on that fucking horse!"

Tavington would have laughed if he could. He was abruptly hauled up and thrown bodily over his horses neck.

"Might have to tie him on," Captain James Wilkins was saying.

Ah, his other Dragoons were rallying around him. He reached down deep inside him for his last reserves, and forced his mind to clear, forced himself to sit up straighter and grip the reins.

"The Ghost?" He asked softly.

"Forget him, he's gone," Wilkins said crisply. "Carried from the field. Your orders?"

"Didn't... I say? ...retreat."

Wilkins nodded and told his brother Richard and Joseph to stay close to relay Tavington's commands and assist if he fell from the saddle. The Green Dragoons, the last of the British forces, fled the field of battle.

:::::::::::::

The days of waiting were wearing the women down, at least seven days since each one of them had woken alone in her bed. Each day, they would congregate in Lyra's tent, none of them wanting to be alone with their fears. It was especially hard on them, having witnessed Margaret's grief at Bordon's funeral.

The Green Dragoons had not yet left the camp to follow after Burwell, and each of them had attended the funeral to pay homage to their fallen comrade. Lyra had stood on one side of Margaret, Tavington on her other side, doing what he could to comfort his friends widow. Two short days later, the Green Dragoons and several other units had split from the camp to chase after the Patriot army.

Cornwallis broke camp each morning, his large force slowly edging into North Carolina, slowly following after Tavington. In the early days after Tavington left, Cornwallis sent a detachment of troops to Charles Town, though Lyra did not know their purpose. Margaret had begged Cornwallis in person to be allowed to travel with that detachment, for she wanted to return to England. She had been gone for three days now, and the women worried for her and Lydia as much as they did for their absent husbands.

Late in the afternoon of the seventh day found Lyra and Charlotte both cooing over Edward, who cooed and smiled back. He had the most incredible smile in the world, both his mother's agreed.

"He looks so much like William," Lyra commented wistfully. "His dark hair and his eyes are lightening now - they'll be as light a blue as his father's."

"Hmm mmm," Charlotte murmured with displeasure. However, it was quite true, she had no choice but to agree.

The two women had both attended the boy during his bath, though it really was a one person job. Anything to handle the babe, and anything to distract them from their husband's away at war. Charlotte handed Lyra a towel to wrap their son up in.

"He didn't even say good-bye," Emily said from where she sat, forlorn and worried, at the back of the tent. Thoughts of their husbands always bought Margaret to Lyra's mind.

"Mrs. Bordon is probably in Charles Town by now," she said quietly.

"She probably would have arrived there a couple of days ago," Charlotte judged. Lyra nodded, knowing the other woman was right.

"I wonder how quickly she will set sail?" Emily asked.

"Folly, to do so now - its the middle of winter!" Eleanor fretted, she came over with some warm clothes for Edward. "With little Lydia and all, the babe is too small, what if she does not survive the journey?"

"I do not think Mrs. Bordon was thinking clearly," Emily said wisely. "She was stricken with grief."

"I don't think she could stand to be around all the Redcoats, either," Charlotte sat down on the edge of Lyra's cot. "So many reminders, I think it almost drove her mad."

"Yes, in London she will see Redcoats, but no where near to this extent of course," Eleanor nodded agreement. "She will be returning to her family there, I hope it is not a long journey, for I feel she needs loved ones around her."

"Hmm. Seven to nine weeks, I'm told," Lyra mused.

Edward began to fuss and Sally offered to fetch the wet nurse. The maid was newly, and very happily wed to Arcam and could not help but feel quite guilty over her happiness when the other women were all so worried. Arcam was not a Dragoon, after all - he had taken on an official position as Tavington's valet and was in camp, safe and sound. Sally seized on any reason to take herself away from the fretting women.

"Dear Lord, I've already been a widow, I don't fancy being one again. I'm fond of James, I do hope he is alright," Charlotte bemoaned when Sally left.

Lyra found the statement strange, but then again, Charlotte and James' wedding had mostly been for mutual convenience. Lyra suspected Wilkins was in love with Charlotte, and for Charlotte to merely be 'fond' of James...

Yes, strange.

For Lyra, it was pure agony, torture. And it had been for days now. The women banded together early in the morning and did not leave each other's side until they retired for the evening, whether they were all assisting in the medical tents or helping the laundry staff with sewing and mending or any of the other endless chores, they stayed together for company and comfort.

And so when, several hours later, word came down that the British Legion was returning, Lyra and the other wives dropped what they were doing and ran to the edge of camp to wait for the vanguard to arrive.

:::::

"Sally - please, will you watch Edward?" Lyra was already backing out of the tent.

"Of course, go!"

With that Lyra lifted the hem of her skirts and ran, Charlotte and Emily right behind her. As they ran they were joined by other wives, all receiving word and heading to where the men would be returning.

Lyra stopped at the edge of camp, shading her eyes against the sun. Figures, men on horseback, began to emerge and her heart pounded with fear. There was no excitement, no joy - just pure fear for William.

She clasped hands with both Emily and Charlotte, standing to either side of her. Other wives milled about close by, ashen faced with fear. The figures of the vanguard drew closer.

"James!" Charlotte cried.

"Joseph!" Emily gasped.

Both women ran forward as one, stumbling over the uneven ground in their haste to reach their husbands. Lyra was frozen to the spot - where was William? He should have been leading the men. It could only mean one thing, she felt certain of it. Her face drained of colour, she felt her vision darken, almost swooning. A man appeared at her side, taking her elbow and placing his arm around her waist to steady her.

"Just wait and see, Mrs. Tavington," O'Hara said calmly. "Perhaps he has merely been wounded. The carts and wagons will be following along shortly. If he has been wounded, he will receive the best of care."

"And if he is already -" Lyra gasped and burst into tears. O'Hara pulled her into his arms and she wept against his chest.

"Where is my Daniel?" An Officer's wife called.

"What of Craig - Craig Dawson?"

"David O'Malley! Where is David O'Malley?"

And many more cries from the other women, calling for their husbands.

"They look rather dispirited," Lord Cornwallis commented to O'Hara. Lyra had not heard the Lord General's approach. "That can not bode well."

"No, I would say not," O'Hara replied heavily.

"Where is Colonel Tavington?" Cornwallis peered at the approaching vanguard.

Lyra felt O'Hara shrug. "We have to wait for Captain Wilkins, my Lord."

"Then we wait," Cornwallis said tersely.

Lyra finally lifted her head from O'Hara's chest, though she remained within the circle of his arms.

"Any sign yet?" She asked softly.

"Not yet, Mrs. Tavington." O'Hara replied.

The troops were closer now, many men were off their horses, taking their wives into crushing embraces. Joseph was one of them, he held a weeping Emily. Wilkins had dismounted but had not stopped to embrace Charlotte, he settled for holding her hand as he came forward to make his report.

He addressed Lyra first.

"Wounded, but severely. I will not give you false hope, Mrs. Tavington, it is a stomach wound and he might well die of it."

"Oh, dear Lord," she buried her face against O'Hara's chest again. Wilkins turned to address Cornwallis this time, and began detailing his report - though Lyra barely heard him. She felt O'Hara stiffen at Wilkins words and she finally quieted her crying to listen.

"Over seven hundred captured, you say?" Cornwallis said, his voice composed but dark. "Seven hundred. One hundred, killed. MacArthur a captive. All in the space of one hour."

"It was a rout, my Lord," Wilkins said tiredly.

"And Colonel Tavington? A stomach wound, you say? Where is he?"

"In one of the wagons, they will be here shortly."

"His condition?"

"Dire, as I said. He has been tended to, but it has been a hard few days of traveling back here, he needs attention right away."

"And he shall have it," he turned to one of his Aide de Camps, and the man ran to follow the silent order. Bring Tavington in, have him seen to, immediately." Cornwallis then turned to O'Hara. "This is a disaster."

"It certainly is, my Lord. We have never suffered such a defeat!" O'Hara lamented and Cornwallis sighed heavily with frustration.

"Captain Wilkins, go and get some rest," he commanded. "I require a full, detailed report on my desk before nightfall."

"Yes, my Lord!" Wilkins withdrew with Charlotte at his side.

"We must push on, General," Cornwallis said imperiously. "All our baggage will be left here with a small force. We, however, will pursue Burwell's force into North Carolina. I have waited long enough."

"My Lord!" Lyra gasped. "What of William? What of -"

"He will receive care, Mrs. Tavington. I do not know the severity of his wound, perhaps he will survive," it was clear by his tone that he doubted it - stomach wounds were almost always fatal. "We will do everything we can for him."

:::::::

It was too late in the day for Cornwallis to split away from the camp. Nevertheless, the Lord General was not idle. The camp was a hive of activity, both tending to the returned wounded as well as organising for Cornwallis to leave the following morning at first light. Captain James Wilkins was breveted to the field command of Lieutenant Colonel and the unwounded Green Dragoons were placed under his command. Other units through out the camp were likewise given new commanders.

As Cornwallis had instructed, the Officers wives, all retainers and unnecessary baggage would be left behind. Cornwallis allocated a small force to be left behind to protect what was now strictly a medical camp.

Lyra barely noticed the organised mayhem outside. Feeling helpless, she watched with horror from her perch in the corner of the medical tent while the field doctors worked on saving her husband's life. She felt dazed, the doctor's words ringing in her ears.

"The wound is deep, Mrs. Tavington, and it has been left to fester for several days now. Men do not usually survive such. We will do all we can for him, but we will have to take each day as it comes. Now, if you will excuse me?"

Lyra had nodded, horrified, and the doctor turned to begin work on her husband. Hours later, the corpsmen worked by candlelight now.

William was so still, so pale, and there was so much blood. The corpsmen spoke to each other as they worked, and it was clear by their words they did not expect the Colonel to survive.

She sat her vigil in the corner of the tent as if in a dream, a nightmare that she could not wake from.

:::::::::

Sunlight filtered canvas tent, and Lyra lifted her head from the table. Her arm was numb from where she had pillowed her head, her neck was killing her. Tense and stiff, she sat up straighter and turned immediately to William.

He was awake.

"Oh, God," she gasped and stumbled to his bedside. "Oh, William, I thought we'd lost you."

He swallowed and raised an arm to stroke her hair. "Lyra..." He managed to croak.

"He's not out of the woods yet, Mrs. Tavington," a corpsman said firmly. "I'm sorry, but I will not give you false hope. He has survived the night, however, and that is a good thing," the doctor moved away and Lyra turned her gaze back to William, her eyes wide and frightened.

"...not going anywhere," Tavington whispered. "The hell... I'll let myself die now... won't give... the Ghost the... satisfaction."

"The Ghost?" She asked him. "Benjamin Martin gave you this wound?"

"Hmm," he swallowed again, his mouth was dry. "Water?"

"Of course, honey," Lyra fetched a glass and lifted his head to help him drink.

"Small sips!" A corpsman barked. The man was wrapping fresh bandages around another Dragoon wounded, but he kept his eagle eye on his other patients at the same time.

"Better," Tavington murmured as he dropped back against the pillow. "I received this wound... four days ago, darling... I've survived this long."

The Corpsman snorted, he had seen soldiers with stomach wounds last only for hours, and had witnessed others linger for days. They all died in the end, usually, though he had to admit that the Colonel was quite strong and seemed to be doing well all things considered. He would not give the Colonel's wife false hope, however.

:::

Tavington was asleep again, but still Lyra stayed, watching over him. Sally and Charlotte were caring for Edward.

"Lyra?" Joseph and Emily ducked into the medical tent.

"Oh, Joey," Lyra stood up and threw herself into her cousins arms. "They are not giving me much hope at all!"

"I'm sorry, dear one," he murmured, his eyes on the Colonel. "He is sleeping far more soundly than I would have expected."

"The men are lucky, or so the doctor would have me believe. A shipment came in before you returned, wagons filled with medical supplies. Most importantly, laudanum."

"Ah. Good. He should not be in pain then."

The precious painkiller was in tight supply and was rationed out with utmost care. Tavington, however, was considered one of the most direly wounded and the corpsmen had not hesitated in dosing him. Lyra could still hear the moaning of other wounded in the camp, those who were denied laudanum.

Lyra drew away from her cousin and wiped a weary hand over her brow. Only then did she notice Emily's tears. "What is wrong?" Lyra asked, instantly alarmed.

"He's leaving again!" Emily bemoaned. "The whole army is packing up and leaving, but they are leaving the wives behind!" She burst out in a fresh bout of weeping. "I don't know when I'll see my Joseph again!"

Joseph exchanged a glance with Lyra, his expression pained. He had his duty, however - he could not stay, not even when faced with his wife's despair.

"I never wanted him to join the army," Emily sniffled. "But as long as I was with him, I could deal with it but now... He will be so far from me and I don't know when he'll return!"

"Oh, Emily," Lyra took her friend, her cousin in truth, into her arms. "Oh, darling. I need you here with me. Joseph has to go where Cornwallis directs him."

"I know!" Emily cried. "But it's so hard!' She turned back to her husband who wrapped her in his arms. "You must promise to write to me, as often as you can!" She whispered against his chest.

"You know I will," Joseph ran his hands over his wife's back. "There is nothing to be done about it, I'm afraid," he said reluctantly. "Captain Wilkins is leaving as well - Lieutenant Colonel Wilkins, I should say. With Tavington out of action and Bordon... with Bordon dead, Cornwallis has named Wilkins leader for the Dragoons."

"I see," Lyra frowned and glanced down at her sleeping husband. She burst out abruptly, "but it's not right! The Dragoons are William's! How can someone else lead them?"

"I know how you feel, but someone must," Joseph shrugged. "And Wilkins is a good choice."

"Well, I suppose... I don't want William to return to the Dragoons anytime soon, anyway," Lyra said as she glanced down at Tavington. It was better this way. "You're leaving now I take it?"

"Yes, I came to say goodbye and I was hoping..." He glanced down at his distraught wife. "That you would stand with Emily - she is going to the edge of camp to wave farewell as we pull out."

Lyra hesitated, shooting a quick glance at William. She did not want to leave him even for a moment, but he was sleeping and Emily had need of her now.

"Very well, of course..." She nodded uncertainly and walked with her cousin to the edge of camp. She stood at Emily's side as Joseph embraced his wife one last time and climbed his horse. Wilkins was there also, Charlotte embraced her husband farewell and came to stand beside Lyra and Emily.

"This is a good opportunity for him," Charlotte said as though trying to convince herself. "He can prove himself now..." She trailed off, falling silent as all three women wondered if they would ever see James Wilkins and Joseph again. Richard Wilkins and Wentworth - other men of Lyra's guard, all came forward to ask after Colonel Tavington's condition and to bid her farewell. A short time later, the Green Dragoons rode out at the head of the vanguard, the other units riding or marching at their rear. The three women waved farewell until their men were lost to their view.

"At least you were able to give him a proper farewell this time, Emily," Lyra said gently. "Instead of waking to find him gone."

"It doesn't make it any easier!" Emily wailed and burst into tears again. Lyra took her cousin into her arms and led her back to Emily's tent. She and Charlotte stayed with her for a short while, but Lyra began to fret for William.

"You go back to Tavington," Charlotte offered. "I'll take care of Emily. Don't worry for Edward either, I'll take care of everything."

"Thank you," Lyra nodded. She had worried for William the entire time she had been gone from his side, fearing Tavington would die in her absence. When she left Emily and Charlotte, she ran quickly back to the medical tent.

He was exactly how she had left him and she dropped to the chair beside the bed with relief. After a short while however, the corpsman noticed her sitting there - a free pair of hands with no occupation, and he set her to work.

Folding bandages. Removing soiled bed linen. Making up fresh beds. Counting his medical supplies. No sooner did she finish one task that he had another three lined up for her, waiting her attention. It helped to pass the time.

Nevertheless, when Tavington began to rouse again, she abandoned the corpsman to attend her husband. She kissed his cheek as the doctor checked the Colonel's wounds.

"No sign of infection, and the wound itself seems to be knitting," the doctor glanced up at Lyra with surprise. "We still don't know, though, Mrs. Tavington. He has suffered a lot of internal damage."

"He has survived for days now, isn't that a good thing?"

"Each day survived gives us hope, Mrs. Tavington," he replied, though he would not commit to any more assurance than that. He moved away to inspect the other wounded.

"Does it hurt terribly?" Lyra asked William, she had taken his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

"It's starting to, the laudanum is keeping the worst of the pain at bay but it's wearing off now," he gazed up at her. "You are a vision, my angel... But have you slept?"

"A little, here and there. Don't you worry for me, William. I do not have a stomach wound. I am not the one who might..." she choked on the words.

"I have survived this long..." he reminded her. "And you have... my baby to worry for."

"The baby is fine," she whispered. She gazed down at him, her usually hale, healthy and handsome husband was anything but!

His shadowed cheeks where hollowed, pallid. Even his lips where bloodless and his eyes glazed. His hair was lank, and he could barely move. He looked terrible.

"You need a shave," she said only, keeping her other observations to herself. He barked a laugh and then cringed.

"Christ," he muttered. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts to laugh."

"Sorry," she kissed his fingers, one by one. "Promise me you're not going to die?" She blinked back her tears, tried to control her breathing.

"Promise."

"Liar," she pushed his hair back from his face. "You can't promise that."

"Hmm. Done a good job of it so far, though."

"That you have."

A shadow moved across them and Lyra looked up to see a military Reverend, standing at the end of the cot.

"Colonel Tavington," he greeted Lyra's wounded husband.

"Reverend," William nodded back.

"How do you feel?"

"Never better," Tavington shuffled and winced with pain.

"I asked the Doctor to send for me as soon as you woke. They have not given me good news on your condition so far, I'm afraid."

Lyra whimpered and Tavington stroked her hair.

"I came down here to listen, if you have anything you wish to confide?"

"Before he dies, you mean?" Lyra flared at once. Her voice caught and she gulped back her tears, embraced her rage. "He is not going to die, do you hear!"

"Lyra -" Tavington murmured.

"He's not! Get out!" She screamed. "Out with you!"

"Lyra!" Tavington took hold of her arm and gently pulled her down to him. Weeping, she climbed onto the cot and curled alongside of him, careful of his wound. "Reverend, I have nothing I wish to say, thank you for coming."

"Very well," the Reverend, who had encountered this reaction in Officers wives before, nodded and withdrew. Lyra lay with her head on Tavington's chest, his hands stroking her hair, still weeping when the corpsman came along with the Colonel's next dose of laudanum. He drifted into oblivion again, with Lyra in his arms.

:::

_A/N - Sorry for the evil cliffhanger, Jadis! :-)_


	62. Chapter 62 - Charles Town

**Chapter 62 - Charles Town**

It was another three days before the Doctor finally gave Lyra the reassurance she desperately needed. In the Doctor's considered opinion, he felt the Colonel was out of the woods and would live. Lyra gasped with relief and smiled down at her husband.

"I told you so," he smiled up at her.

"But he must remain in bed, Mrs. Tavington, he is not allowed to do more than rise for long enough to take care of his business in a chamber pot. I do not want him walking more than a few yards."

"Very well, I will make sure of it."

"He will not have full mobility for months to come. It will be at least three months before he can sit a horse, so he better not have any ideas of racing off to join Cornwallis anytime soon."

"Certainly not!" Lyra gasped.

"I have written to Cornwallis explaining the Colonel's condition and have made it clear that I do not believe he will be ready to join the army in North Carolina for at least five months."

"Very good - thank you, Doctor. I was worried the would be recalled to duty immediately."

"Not at all, in fact he will not even resume light duties for at least two months. Rest is what he needs now."

"Can he come back to our tent?" Lyra asked hopefully.

"Well..." he considered for a few moments. "I do have need of the bed... Yes, he may but he is not to be left alone, he is not to be disturbed and I shall check on his wounds several times a day."

"I'll stay by his side," Lyra assured him.

"And as I said - he is not to rise from his bed except to relieve himself."

"I'll tie him to the cot if I have to," Lyra smiled down at her husband. Tavington's expression was mutinous, the two had been discussing him as though he were not even there!

"That will not be necessary," the Doctor hid a small smile. "Nevertheless, he is not to over exert himself. Too much movement can tear his wound open again, even now. He must keep to his bed, and only walk for short bursts."

"I am laying right here," Tavington growled. "Doctor, my wife is not going to have to stop me from mounting a horse and riding off to join Cornwallis! I'm in too much pain to walk a few steps, in any case!"

"Yes, he is better, doctor," Lyra laughed, tears making her eyes bright. "He's temper has returned."

"Vixen," William muttered fondly and rolled his eyes.

:::

With William so weak from his wound, Lyra won the argument.

It began when Officers, lower ranking than William, began pestering the Colonel constantly.

After being transferred to his and Lyra's tent several days earlier, he was still laid up in bed, barely able to walk the few steps to his chamber pot. Even still, Officers began coming to the tent on the pretence of 'visiting', but their true purpose had been to have him make command decisions. He was the highest ranking Officer in camp, higher even than the Officer Cornwallis had left in charge, Major Frankston.

Major Frankston was one of the main perpetrators, he visited Tavington sometimes three times a day, continually asking the Colonel's advice.

William endured it quite well for he hated being treated like an invalid, hated feeling useless. It was Lyra who was infuriated by the constant interruptions.

"William, why don't we leave here and make our way back to Wilkins plantation for you to recuperate properly?" Lyra asked tentatively. She had the feeling her husband welcomed the constant visits - he was turing out to be a cranky patient. He was eager to be out of the bed, eager to get back into his duties, eager to be _doing anything_ than laying on his cot. But his body needed to heal - he needed rest and Lyra would do what she could to ensure he got it.

"It is not safe. The roads are not safe, and the plantation itself - I do not have enough men to protect the farm."

"Charles Town then. Sir Francis Rawdon is in command there with a large force, the town is quite secure. And when you are ready, you will be able to take up duty again under Rawdon."

"I can not abandon my post -"

"This is not your post!" Lyra snapped finally. "This is _Major Frankston's_ post even if he is too inept to command it. You are not getting any rest - he is constantly coming to you to make decisions! How can he hold the rank of Major when he can barely do his duty?"

"He probably purchased the commission, and now finds himself out of his depth. I can not leave him -"

"Yes you can! Cornwallis did not place you in charge! He did not give orders for you at all! In his last missive to me, he only states he wants you to be properly healed before you resume command and join him. Well, my husband, I hate to break it to you but you will not be 'properly healed' for months yet! And it will be even longer if you are not able to rest!"

Tavington sighed heavily and was about to make further protest when -

"I've gone above you, Colonel Tavington," Lyra said in a formal tone, both defiant and nervous at once.

"Your meaning?" He asked coolly.

"I wrote to Cornwallis of my concerns," she drew a deep breath and waited for the explosion.

"You did what?" He bellowed, then grabbed his stomach and winced with pain.

"Don't you get angry with me! You fool, stubborn man! Yes, I wrote to Cornwallis as soon as it became obvious you were not going to be left alone. And he quite agrees - he needs you William. He wrote it in his missive - he needs you, at full strength, as soon as possible. And he has agreed that you can not convalesce here, with so many constant interruptions! Further more -"

"There's more?!" He snapped with fury.

"Indeed," she said haughtily. "I spoke with the doctors. They agreed that you would be safe to travel, if you are laying in the back of a wagon and well cushioned. They said that your wound is knitting nicely and as long as you do not go wielding a sword or doing any other such foolish thing, it would not reopen. And so are leaving."

She folded her arms across her chest and glared balefully down at him. He glared right back.

And then Major Frankston ducked into the tent and Lyra arched an eyebrow at Tavington. He could see her rage, felt her need to lash out. He half expected her to begin screaming at the Major as she had the Reverend and so he greeted the Major politely before Lyra could open her mouth.

"As you were, Major," Tavington commanded curtly and Frankston relaxed his salute.

"Sir, it is the latrines. They are backing up and making a hell of a stench. I fear we shall begin seeing our first cases of dysentery soon. What would you advise?"

"Build them deeper," Tavington said. "And further from the camp. They are far too close where they are now."

"Ah, very good, Sir. Also, there seems to be quite a few fights breaking out amongst the men -"

"Find the instigators and place them on latrine duty."

"Very well. Also -"

Lyra began to growl under her breath, though Frankston did not notice.

"- I have been getting reports of... ah..." he cast a quick glance at Mrs. Tavington before continuing, "women selling their... ah... _wares_ amongst the officers."

"Get rid of them, at once. Especially the new comers - I do not want to risk spies in camp. If the men wish to frequent whores, they can do so on their furlough, not here in the middle of camp."

"Very good Sir. Also -"

"Out!" Lyra surged to her feet and pointed at the tent flap. "My husband needs his rest, Sir! Out!"

"Ah, yes... Well, I am sorry to have interrupted you. This is important however and -"

He cut off when Lyra scowled and began to tap her foot with irritation.

"What is it?" Tavington asked tiredly.

"Well, the food supply, Sir. We are on rations as it is, and we have had no relief so far."

"I'm told the supply convoy will be here in the next two days. You may need to send a unit to support the convoy, protect it from militia."

"Ah yes, very good. Thank you sir. Forgive me, Mrs. Tavington," he doffed his helmet to Lyra and then fled the tent.

"Dysentery?" Lyra rounded on William at once. "And what other diseases are going to spread through this camp? We have Edward to think of, and Lord Cornwallis has _given you permission to leave!_ What is it going to take to make you change your damned fool stubborn -"

"Come here!" He commanded her sharply and Lyra fell silent, edging closer to the bed. Tavington pulled her down to him and kissed her tenderly. "We will leave tomorrow morning."

"Ah, very good. Thank you, Sir," Lyra said in a fair imitation of Frankston and giggled against Tavington's lips, kissing him deeply in return.

She did so enjoy winning their arguments.

::::::::

Lyra and the other women spent the rest of the day organising their departure, and they left the following morning. She had had no doubt Charlotte and Emily would wish to join her, and of course Eleanor, Sally and Arcam were in hers and Tavington's employ - where Lyra and William went, they would go also.

She had enjoyed giving Frankston the news, the Major had stared at Lyra in horror, knowing he was on his own now - no Colonel Tavington to rely on. Lyra requested an escort, she could not risk traveling across country alone with one of the most hated British Officers, wrapped in blankets on the wagons bed - unable to defend himself.

Frankston provided her with two score of troops, who would march to Charles Town and then return to him immediately. Tavington had laughed softly, telling Lyra that Frankston was a hopeful one. The detachment would not be returning to the medical camp, Tavington guessed, for Sir Rawdon - who held command in Charles Town - would have need of them and would seconder them into his command.

After two and a half full days of traveling, the weary detachment entered Charles Town. Emily was taken to her parent's manor before the detachment turned for Tradd Street. Charlotte, who lived on Tradd St also, bid Lyra farewell at her door, she waved as the wagon moved off down the street a few houses. Finally, Lyra and William were home again.

:::

Tavington had to admit he certainly preferred the large, soft, comfortable bed he shared with Lyra in their manor house in Charles Town far more than he had the hard cot back at camp.

It had been a rough journey over hard terrain, but they had made it in one piece and were finally home. He had no idea for how long, he would need to return to Cornwallis' side in due course. But for now, it was enough.

Now that the battle was nothing more than a memory, he finally felt he was able to talk about it to Lyra. Of his failure.

The two lay in their large bed, Tavington wearing nothing more than his bandages, Lyra wearing only her shift. They had not had relations since Tavington was wounded and both knew it would be some time before they were able to couple. That did not stop Lyra from laying along side him, her fingers gently stroking his erection while he lay on his back.

Rather pleasant that, Tavington thought with a sigh of contentment. She continued to stroke him as he began to speak of the battle. Lyra could hear the disgust in his voice, disgust at himself as he relayed what had happened.

"MacArthur tried to warn me. The men needed rest, they needed food. I pushed on, however. Victory was so close, I could almost taste it! I assumed the American's would use the same deployments and tactics as they have previously but Burwell... He's a clever bastard, he is. I thought we'd be faced with militia, who break and run - they are notorious for it! But he used both the terrain and the militia to cover his real force, his trained Continentals. I lost half my infantry unit in the first charge, and it only went down hill from there. Not even an hour later, and most of my force was either captured or dead. I barely got away, as you already know."

"And your fight with the Ghost?" Lyra asked, her fingers pausing in their gentle caress. "Dear Lord, William. I've seen small skirmishes, I know how much confusion and noise there is, how you can't see a damned thing. I would only imagine its far worse in a larger battle - how in the world did you even come across each other?"

"Don't stop, my angel," he admonished, kissing her forehead and writhing his hips until she began moving her hand on his length again. "I still don't know. I'm glad I did though, I only hope the bastard died of his wounds. I have not described the fight to you, would you like to hear what happened?"

She nodded, wide eyed, and he began to detail his fight to the death with the enemy Colonel.

"I was about to kill him," he said finally, "but he turned at the last second, skewered me with his saber. He was about to finish me off when Joseph arrived and shoved the Ghost off me. I can barely remember it, I was too stunned and in too much pain. All I can remember was the fight still raging around us, and then falling to the ground when I tried to mount my horse. Joseph saved my life. Damned good man, is Joseph."

"I know. Dear Lord..." Lyra shook her head, uncertain how she should feel about it.

"Whether he is dead or alive, Burwell is denied his Colonel," Tavington said, somewhat smugly. "The Ghost, if he is not dead, will be laid up in bed just like I am. I wish I could be there when Cornwallis catches Burwell."

"Well you can't!" Lyra frowned. "I doubt you'll be serving for months yet, judging by what the doctor said before we left camp."

"I do not know if Cornwallis will allow me to resume my duties when I am healed, not after my failure," Tavington curled his lips. "I've been put out to pasture."

"No you haven't been! And stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have your life, me, Edward, our baby will come along in another five months or so. Besides, how many missives have you received from Cornwallis asking after your health? What was it he said in the last missive, that the dragoons are not thriving as well under Wilkins command as they did yours? He needs you, even with the mistakes you made at the last battle."

"Hmm, perhaps you are right," Tavington frowned.

"I am right! Other commanders have lost battles, William. This was your first and perhaps it is a bitter thing to accept, but it has not ended your career. I believe that Cornwallis wants you at his side right now."

"Perhaps..."

"Don't get any ideas, however. You are staying right here, for a few months at least. Perhaps even until the babe is born."

"Christ, that is another five months at least. I will well and truly be on my feet by then. No, I'll be back at Cornwallis side in only a few months, my angel."

"So, I'll give birth in camp," Lyra said reluctantly.

"Unless you remain here where it is safe."

"The Hell I will," she snapped, furious over the very idea. "Where you go, my sweet darling, I go."

"Very well," he chuckled. He would not have it any other way himself, he decided. He detested being parted from her and decided he would do everything within his power to keep her at his side. Who knew how long Cornwallis would be in North Carolina for? And the Lord General would continue pushing further away - into Virginia, he could be gone for months - might never actually return to Charles Town again. No, Lyra and Edward would come with him, there was nothing else for it.

"Hmm," he sighed now, it had been too long since he had felt her hands on him.

"Is this alright, I'm not aggravating your wound?" Lyra asked.

"No, its alright. Perfect in fact," Tavington smiled. Lyra tightened her grip on his member and gradually began stroking him harder and more insistently, keeping an eye on him in case she was hurting him. It was bliss for Tavington, however. He did not thrust up into her fist as he normally would have, for that _would_ have aggravated his wound. No, he laid back with his arm around her, kissing her gently while she pleasured him. Her fingers curled tightly about him, moving along the shaft, her thumb twirling around his tip - spreading his moisture around the helmet.

Tavington's heart began beating wildly and he moaned into her mouth. "Agh," he whispered. "Dear Lord... Agh, Lyra... Feels so good, its been too long," he growled against her lips. Sensing he was close, Lyra slowed her hand, drawing out the tension and Tavington squeezed his arm around her, pulling her up against his chest.

"Faster..." he murmured. "Agh, Christ, faster, my angel. Agh, Lord I need to come!"

Lyra smiled. She obeyed, increasing her pace, fisting his shaft even as she kissed him. Tavington's legs worked beneath the sheets, he was losing control and finally began to buck his pelvis up and down, setting the pace, needing that release. With one last moan, one long drawn out "aggghhhh!", Tavington came, his hot seed squirting out of him as he lay back against the pillows with his eyes shut, enjoying the pleasure at its height. His orgasm lasted for several moments before fading and he finally turned back to Lyra and kissed her gently.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he murmured.

"Oh, once or twice," she quipped against his lips. "I love you too, honey."

"I need you..." he whispered, his lips catching her bottom lip and suckling gently. "So much."

"I know you do," she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm not going anywhere, William."

"Good..." He sighed and lay back against the pillows. He would not admit it to her, but his wound was starting to sting, that little exercise - bucking up into her hand - had been too much for him after all. He would not admit it, for it had been worth it and if he told her then she would not repeat it for several days.

His arm still hooked around her shoulders and the two settled in for the night, soon falling asleep in their large, comfortable bed.

::::::


	63. Chapter 63 - Terrible Tidings

**Chapter 63 - Terrible Tidings **

Emily took a sip of her tea and sighed with pleasure. "I missed this, I really did..." She said wistfully.

"Sitting in a warm and comfortable parlor drinking tea?" Lyra asked with amusement.

"Indeed. We've been back for a whole week now and I still appreciate Charles Town's luxuries as though we only arrived back yesterday. If Joey were here, life would be perfect."

"I couldn't agree more. At least I have William with me, it must be torture for you and Charlotte with your husbands away."

"You know I never wanted Joseph to join," Emily frowned. "It _is_ torture - who knows how many times they've skirmished with the Continentals? He could die and I wouldn't learn of it for days!"

"I know..." Lyra murmured. There was nothing to say to reassure Emily and so Lyra didn't try. She changed the subject subtly, hoping to divert her cousin from her fears. "Have you heard from Charlotte? I've not seen her for two days now - she was coming every day for a while there."

"Yes... But..." Emily leaned forward to ensure they were alone. "Where is the Colonel?"

"With Sir Francis - he is visiting and they have closeted themselves in William's office," Lyra said, intrigued by Emily's furtive behavior. "What is it, Emily?"

"Well..." Another glance over her shoulder and she continued in a hushed tone. "Half the reason Charlotte was visiting so often was because she wanted to get away from the Redcoats billeted in her home. You know that she's a Patriot, even if she is married to James."

"There's only one Redcoat here," Lyra frowned. "Do you know why she's stopped coming?"

"Because that one Redcoat _here_ is Colonel Tavington. That one Redcoat who lives _here_ does not let you sit in here alone with your friends..." Emily trailed off.

"It's not that he _'doesn't let me', _Emily," Lyra laughed. "Since he was wounded he has been..."

"Clingy?" Emily finished for Lyra.

"He needs me," Lyra shrugged and took another sip of her own tea. "You have to understand, he can't do anything! His wound stops him from..." Lyra searched her mind, thinking of all the things William loved to do that his wound kept him from. "Riding a horse! He can't train with a sword and he is frustrated that he will have to work hard to gain his stamina back. Sir Francis will not give him any duties, not even simple administration work until he his much improved. He is bored, in constant pain since he has been denied laudanum. It is getting better by the day, its been three weeks since the battle, but still..." She shrugged again. "He needs me..."

"Oh, I know, and I don't begrudge him any of it. But surely when Charlotte comes to visit, he could occupy himself in his office with a book? She needs you too and surely you understand how Charlotte feels, you don't begrudge her for disliking William?"

"Of course not," Lyra frowned.

"Well - she does not feel comfortable sitting in here, trying to converse with you, while William is constantly at your side." Emily said bluntly. "Especially if she wants to complain about the Redcoats in her home."

"Hmm, I suppose you are right. Perhaps I should go visit her in her manor..."

"That would be a good idea," Emily nodded. "You know that Rebecca feels the same way - I don't think she'll ever approve of him as a husband for you."

"Well, thats just too bad," Lyra laughed out right. "She'll have to live with it. I wonder though - she sent me an invitation to visit her at the mansion, even offered to have her carriage come around to collect me as if I don't have my own. I wondered why, but now I realise she wants me to leave William behind."

"I would say so," Emily chuckled. "I don't understand it - well, I understand _Charlotte_, of course - but not Rebecca! I like the Colonel myself."

"Well, he did offer to marry you..." Lyra teased with a smile.

"He told you about that? Oh, how I laughed! I'll never forget it - he even suggested we be unfaithful to each other, he would sneak each night to your bed while I sneaked away to Joseph's." Emily laughed again at the memory. "It was so long ago and I was in the pits of despair."

"I know, it was a terrible time for us all, but it all turned out in the end. We've married the men we love with no need to swap beds," Lyra chuckled.

"Hmm, if only Joey was here," Emily sighed wistfully. "You know, I might have to borrow your Colonel after all, he is a handsome man and I do miss my husband so very much."

"Mrs. Emily Claire Simms!" Lyra gasped, mildly outraged. "What a thing to suggest!" She chuckled then and leaned forward to place her tea cup on the saucer. She continued in a confiding tone, "my William is not up to his full... strength... just yet anyway, not with the wound. I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere!"

Both girls dissolved into giggles, Lyra wiped a tear from her eye.

"Hmm, and where would I take him?" Emily asked. "Rebecca has all but demanded I move in with her at the mansion." She affected an imperious tone in imitation of Rebecca. "If you are to be mistress of this mansion, then you must learn the workings of it. You must learn how to manage the property, who we use as our suppliers. You must get to know the servants, learn their ways, teach them yours. Though I do not believe anything needs to be changed, of course! But I must teach you all I know before I die -"

" 'Before I die' !" Lyra chortled. "Oh, she is trying that line is she? 'Poor dear old me'..."

"I'm afraid so."

"And the servants must learn your ways, but she does not think anything needs to be changed and must teach you all she knows? In other words, the mansion will be run her way come hell or high water!"

"I'm afraid so," Emily repeated. "My mother said the same. She told me to kick Rebecca out, force her to live with her son, Cole."

"You could..." Lyra mused, amused at the thought. Though she had reconciled with her grandmother, people never truly changed and Rebecca was still as manipulative as she always had been. Just not as _venomous_.

"I could," Emily giggled. "But I won't. Because she is quite right, I have to admit. I don't know the first thing about managing such a large property and with Joey away, there is no one else to teach me."

"Fair enough - do not let her stop you from expressing yourself, however. The place is yours now - I made that clear when I ceded it to Joey. You remind Rebecca of that - if she becomes too overbearing. The place is yours and she is only living there by your sufferance. Don't let her bully you."

"I won't," Emily smiled. "But if I do find her too difficult - will you speak to her for me?"

"Of course! But she really just needs a firm hand, Emily. If you stand up for yourself, she will back down, I assure you." Lyra frowned, a thought occurring to her. "I have not seen Eleanor in some days, have you?"

"No," Emily replied. "I know she wanted to air her house and give it a decent clean. She has been busy changing her curtains over for lighter drapes for Spring and getting food stores in but I had thought she took regular breaks to stop by here?"

"She was... But I've not seen her at all for two days now which is unusual. Surely she is not avoiding me because William sits in with us? Besides, she's not just my friend, she's my secretary... It's unlike her to stay away."

"Perhaps I'll stop off at her place on the way home. I've never been there before - she always speaks of how much she loves her home."

"That she does - its small of course - a simple two story lodging but it is so warm and cosy and has such a lovely homey feel. I love it there."

Just then, Tavington appeared in the door way.

"Mrs. Simms," he said fondly, leaning over Emily to kiss her cheek.

"Colonel Tavington," Emily smiled back. She caught Lyra's eyes and blushed - clearly remembering her suggestion that she 'borrow' Tavington. "Has Sir Francis gone then?" She asked as William sat beside his wife.

"Yes and he is still refusing to give me any duties, though he was willing to ask my advice just now," he said irritably.

"You need more time to recover, honey. Its why we came to Charles Town in the first place, so you could rest," Lyra pointed out.

"Hmm," Tavington curled his lip. "So, Mrs. Simms, are you pleased to be home?"

"Yes, though it has its complication," Emily sighed.

"Rebecca has _asked_ Emily to move into the mansion with her," Lyra stressed the word _asked_, as though Rebecca had not been demanding about it.

"Lucky you!" Tavington said with feigned enthusiasm. "I could think of no better place to live, myself."

"Liar," both women said in unison. Tavington smiled.

"Have you heard from Joseph?" he asked Emily.

Lyra studied him as they discussed Joseph and the news the Sir Francis had bought earlier. There was a tension to her husband, she noticed, that only seemed to ease when she was near. She gave his hand a squeeze and hoped his despondency passed soon, it was certainly not good for him to be so low spirited.

::::::::

Spring was well and truly on its way, the weather was growing warmer by the day. Not as warm as it would be in a few more months, but Lyra felt certain that Winter was definitely over.

Sir Francis Rawdon had been daily to check on William's condition and help pass the time. Tavington was able to walk further around the properties grounds - still very slowly of course. He and Lyra would sit in the sun, enjoying the warmth, though he complained that he hated being so prone - it made him feel like an old man.

Although he was improving by the day, he was far from being mobile and it would certainly be some weeks - if not months, before he could mount a horse. He dressed each day in his full uniform, his Redcoat and breeches, his hair tied immaculately in its queue, even if it was to sit in the parlor and read. He begged Rawdon for work to do, but still Rawdon refused.

Lyra was becoming concerned about his despondency and resolved to speak quietly to Rawdon on his next visit. Tavington needed an occupation, surely some administrative duties would not harm him.

After a day or so of putting her grandmother off, Lyra finally excepted her invitation. Her grandmother's carriage pulled up around the front of Lyra's manor and William reluctantly bid her farewell.

"I won't be long, I promise," she said, kissing him on his freshly shaved cheek. "An hour, perhaps."

"I still don't understand why she can't come here," he frowned, his expression mutinous. "What if I have need of you?"

"One hour," Lyra said firmly. "I will have Edward with me, you should take the time to rest," her hand moved subtly over his chest, further down to slip under his Redcoat. She palmed the front of his breeches, giving his erection a gentle squeeze. "You know how much you tire when I pleasure you these days."

"Vixen," he breathed. He reluctantly let her go and she slipped away from him with a smile.

:::

After leaving Lyra the day before, Emily had gone to the mansion to inform Rebecca she would move in within the week.

"I want to retire," Rebecca was saying to Lyra now. "Emily is mistress of the mansion now, it is only fitting that she get to know her servants and learn the workings of the property. Who knows when Joey will return? Emily needs to learn how to manage our families business concerns while her husband is away."

"What of Cole?" Lyra asked, thankfully she had not seen her Uncle since they returned, though they had been in Charles Town a full week now. "Doesn't he handle the business concerns?"

"His own, yes and the ones I have a share in. But I handle my own and I will be leaving most of them to Joseph and Emily when I die," Rebecca said in a tragic voice and Lyra tried to hard not to roll her eyes. "Never fear, I will not forget you in my Will, but I wish to ensure Joseph and Emily have enough to take care of all this," she waved her hand airily around the parlor, though Lyra knew she was indicating the entire mansion.

"That is good," Lyra nodded. "The mansion does not earn any sort of profit, Joey will need an income to maintain it. You need not fear for me, however. A lot of my wealth has been put into investments off shore, and a great lot of it is in the bank of England by now. Besides, William is sure to receive rewards from the Crown for his efforts when the war is over."

"Yes, Colonel Tavington," Rebecca curled her lip. The woman had softened toward Lyra over the last year, but she simply could not bring herself to approve of Lyra's choice in husband, not one little bit. "I do hope he is managing your wealth carefully."

"He is," Lyra sighed. It was the same every time she saw her grandmother, even when Rebecca had visited her at Wilkins plantation.

"Be that as it may, I shall not forget my own granddaughter in my Will. Who knows what the future holds? Those offshore interests might fail, or perhaps your husband will find a perchance for drinking and gambling -"

"Grandmama," Lyra frowned. "William is not a big drinker and he certainly does not gamble."

"How do you know?" Rebecca asked shrewdly. "He could be both but he is so busy with this war, you won't know until you are enjoying more peaceful times." She raised her hands in a placating gesture when Lyra's expression became mutinous. "All I am saying is that I will have a little something for you to help care for you. Honestly - Ohio? What is in Ohio? It is too far away. Though I suppose your husband is not as well known there, his atrocities would not have touched anyone in Ohio so he won't have any enemies there. Yet."

"Atrocities?" Lyra frowned, ignoring her grandmother's jibe. She thought of the Patriot women William had taken captive and ordered raped when she first met him. Her mind turned to Benjamin Martin and his capture of her and the following nights spent in his tent. "I'll admit that William has done some things I certainly do not approve of, but the Patriots have behaved no better."

"No better?" Rebecca snorted. "What of Pembroke? Loyalist I might be, but even I know that the Patriots have not committed an atrocity on so grand a scale as that. It would not surprise me if your Tavington will be shunned from society forever more after what he did there, and poor you - my own dear granddaughter will be shunned right along with him!"

"Shunned?" Lyra asked faintly. "Pembroke?"

Rebecca hesitated, it belatedly occurred to her that perhaps Lyra did not know.

"What are you speaking of, Grandmama?" Lyra asked warily.

"Bah! Forget I said anything, child," Rebecca said, waving the comment away. "Gossip and lies, child. Nothing more. I won't repeat it."

"Grandmama," Lyra said firmly. "If people are gossiping and lying about my husband, then I deserve to know what they are saying. Especially if we are to be shunned over it!"

"You will not hear it from me," Rebecca said firmly.

"Wonderful. Who will I hear it from then, hmm? Katie Collins perhaps? I could pay her a visit, she despises me, you know. She had an affair with William before I met him and even now she is jealous that I have him while she is stuck with Bradley Collins. She would not hesitate to tell me the things you are alluding to."

_Katie had an affair with Tavington? Dear Lord! _Rebecca sniffed, she had always known that woman was a trollop and it confirmed her feelings for Tavington as well - that he would bed a married woman. "Lyra -"

"I would prefer to hear it from family, if there is something to be told!" Lyra snapped. "If someone is slandering my husband -"

"Slander, yes! Lies, gossip!" Rebecca cried, forgetting all about Katie Collins. "It can't be true, not one word of it. It was probably a fabrication of the Ghost, to win sympathy for those Patriots in defiance of the Crown. Think naught of it!"

"If it can't be true, then there can't be any harm in telling me," Lyra said firmly.

Rebecca sighed heavily, obviously her granddaughter was not about to let it go so easily. Again kicking herself for her loose tongue, Rebecca repeated the news as it had come to her.

"Very well. The gossip about town is that Colonel Tavington paid a visit to Pembroke some five weeks back. A young woman was hiding in the attic of her home as the Green Dragoons searched the houses and shops, herding the denizens of Pembroke toward the Church. It seems the woman was a Patriot spy and feared the Dragoons were searching for her and so she kept herself well hidden, only peering out the attic window when it became apparent the men had completed their search of the houses. She could hear them clearly, 'Every body must assemble at the church, Colonel Tavington wishes to address the Village.' She watched as the last people entered the church and then William, still mounted on his horse, rode up the steps and straight into the church."

Lyra frowned. "What ever for? William - riding a horse in doors - why would he do such a thing?"

"Who knows? He was inside for a short while, the woman said she could see the backside of the horse through the open doors. Then he rode back out again and she saw..."

"What?" Lyra asked dangerously when Rebecca trailed off.

"She saw the Officers close the doors of the church, then begin barricading the windows with the people still inside," Rebecca continued reluctantly. "The woman reports that she saw Captain James Wilkins - she must know the man to have recognised him - Wilkins spoke to Tavington, the two exchanging words before Wilkins grabbed a firebrand and threw it onto the roof of the church."

Lyra froze. She stared at her grandmother with shock and as the implications sunk in, she began to breath heavily, fear writhing her stomach.

"No..." She whispered, her green eyes wide.

"I told you, it's lies," Rebecca waved her arm dismissively though she knew quite well that it was all true. Every word of it. There had been too many tales coming from the Santee, too many whispers to be discounted.

"What happened next?" Lyra whispered, feeling sick. She searched with her eyes for a chamber pot.

"Lies. The woman said the church caught fire as more Dragoons threw lit firebrands. She said she heard the people screaming to be let out, but that Tavington just watched for a long time before turning his horse and leading the Dragoons away."

"Oh, my dear Lord," Lyra pressed her hands to her stomach and leaned over. Rebecca cursed her folly and rushed to the bureau to fetch a chamber pot.

"My dear," she said gently as she sat down and stroked Lyra's back holding the pot before her stricken granddaughter. "Just try to relax, think of the baby."

"Oh, dear Lord... When... When did it happen?" Lyra glanced at her grandmother frantically.

"As I said, five, maybe six weeks ago?" Rebecca answer softly.

"Who was this woman? This spy?"

"Her name is Alice Scott."

"Scott... Dan Scott's wife... What came next. What happened?" Lyra asked harshly.

"Well... She says there were no survivors..."

"Oh, dear Lord," Lyra pressed her shaking hand to her mouth and swayed as her grandmother continued.

"She claims she waited up there in the attic for hours, for she was too frightened to do anything else. The remaining Dragoons finally rode out from Pembroke and then a group of Patriot militia came thundering into the township - that Ghost's son - Gabriel Martin. Apparently he became frantic because he discovered his wife and her parents where in the church and -"

Lyra wretched. Gripping the chamber pot with tight fingers, she heaved and wretched in the pot until her stomach was emptied and then she wretched some more.

"Claire!" Rebecca called, and a servant darted into the parlor, she shot a curious glance at the weeping Lyra before taking the chamber pot away.

"Lyra," Rebecca stoked Lyra's back and called her name gently. Lyra sobbed unabashedly, stricken with grief. "Lyra... Please be calm, think of the baby -"

"Curly... he told me..." Lyra choked out through her tears. "He said..."

Sobs wracked her, she could not get the words out though she remembered the conversation well.

_"What did William do, Curly?" She asked him as she held his gaze. "Why was Gabriel..." She shuddered, recalling his rage, his murderous intent. "I've never seen him like that before, I didn't think he was capable of it."_

_"You haven't seen him in battle," Curly said gently. "As for what happened to cause his anger - I don't think I'll tell you Miss, best you remain an innocent lamb. I am sending you back to the Butcher, and I reckon its best if you just don't know what a monster Tavington is, what he's capable of. I wouldn't go asking, neither."_

_"Monster?" She asked in a small voice. "It was that bad?" _

_He held her gaze in silence. _

_"And then some," he finally answered in hushed tone. _

And she remembered Gabriel's rage. The gentle boy who had clearly felt sympathy for the captive his father was continually raping. That sympathy had disappeared and in its place was bloodlust, a murderous need to cause pain and deal death.

_"The Butcher..." he said again, his face stone, his eyes a horror. He took another step toward her. He seemed positively unhinged but at the same time, steady and implacable. "The Butcher - your fiancé - will pay._ _He must pay!"_

"Lyra?" Rebecca called softly but Lyra could not respond beyond shaking her head and weeping. She drew her knees up to her chest and cried.

When Edward awoke, Rebecca picked the baby up and called for Sally.

"Take him to the nursery," she suggested. "It has not been used in some time, but Lyra is not capable of caring for him just now. Will you see to his needs?"

"Of course," Sally cast a concerned look through the parlor doors at the weeping Lyra. "What's wrong?"

"She will be fine, I am dealing with it," Rebecca may have softened over the last year, but servants were still servants and this one had been a slave once. She was not about to confide in the woman no matter how close she was to Lyra. She dismissed Sally, who left reluctantly with Edward, and returned to attend her granddaughter.

Lyra was staring into space, her eyes wide with horror. She had stopped weeping for the moment, but the occasional fit still took her. After a few moments silence, she turned to her grandmother. "It's true," she whispered in a hoarse voice. "It's all true."

_I know,_ Rebecca thought as she studied her granddaughters ashen face.

"It all fits," Lyra replied slowly and quietly. She looked lost, leaning back against the lounger, her head bowed and her hands listless in her lap. "All of it. He tortured the Middleton's - not only for their betrayal but to discover where I was being held by the Ghost."

"Tortured... Lord, Michael and Arthur?" Rebecca said just as softly, just as slowly. These were things she had not been told, truths that were better left in some dark, locked chamber. She had wondered, however, wondered why the Middleton family had withdrawn from Charles Town society. She realised now they must have done so in disgrace for their sons betrayals. But tortured? Rebecca shivered.

In a wooden voice Lyra began to discuss her capture and her time in captivity with the Ghost. Over the course of an hour it all came out, Lyra sleeping in Benjamin Martin's tent, her escape which was facilitated by the Patriots Curly and Skunk.

Rebecca had known that Lyra had been taken - but only after the fact, which was still a sore point for her. She had often worried that Lyra might have been raped during her captivity, and to hear her speak of her time in Benjamin's tent pained her no end. She closed her eyes and drew a ragged breath.

"And Curly said... He said it was really bad... What William had done. He said not to go looking for trouble, not to try and find out... But it must be true! It must be..." Hot tears burned her eyes and Lyra choked on her sobs again. "He killed... children... innocent children... women... Anne Howard and her parents! Oh, dear Lord..!"

"Oh, my dear child," Rebecca blinked back her own tears. "I don't know what to say!"

"Nor do I!" Lyra cried. "I don't know... Oh, Lord..."

Lyra wept and wiped her tears with a cotton handkerchief. "How could I have not known before now? I was in the middle of the Dragoon camp. None of them breathed a word of this - Lord, was Joseph there?" She caught and held Rebecca's eyes, and her grandmother's face turned white. "He must have been, if the other Dragoons were. He is a Captain, just like Wilkins was."

They both fell silent again, staggered with the crushing weight of certainty and dread. It was bad enough for Rebecca, that a man who was married into her family had been involved in - no _instigated_ - such a heinous crime. But the realisation that her own grandson was involved was terrible.

"I wonder if Emily knows," Rebecca murmured.

"She mustn't. Oh, Grandmama, I hardly know what to think - what to feel! I feel so lost, so helpless!"

"I feel the same," Rebecca replied. "How can we show our faces in society? Not just your husband's involvement, but my own grandson - my flesh and blood! Dear Lord."

Lyra could not find it within herself to admonish her grandmother for fearing being ostracized from the Charles Town peerage. She felt too drained, horrified and grief stricken all at once.

"Here," Rebecca had risen from the lounger and returned bearing a stiff drink for her granddaughter. "It will help you sleep."

"What is it?"

"Whiskey," Rebecca replied.

Lyra drank back the whiskey, though she doubted it would help her any.

"And something a little extra," Rebecca admitted when she was certain Lyra had drank the glass down. "You just lay down there, and get some rest."

Within moments, Lyra fell asleep thanks to the few drops of a sleeping draft her grandmother slipped into her drink.

::::::

**_A/N: I admit I was not going to deal with the Pembroke massacre, I was going to have Lyra remain ignorant of it because I didn't know how to tackle it. But it's hardly realistic, she would learn of it eventually. Besides, Bain Sidhe, who has helped me heaps with a couple of my more difficult and emotionally charged scenes, requested that I address it. Again, thank you Bain, for helping me out and for letting me bounce my ideas off you for the coming chapters! You've given me a truck load of your valuable time and it's very much appreciated! The scenes are definitely better with thanks to your input. :-)_**


	64. Chapter 64 - Dealing With Grief

**Chapter 64 - Dealing With Grief**

Lyra awoke several hours later. She sat up groggily, the sleeping draft still affecting her. After a while, as sense returned, the memory of William's atrocity came rushing back to her. She felt a crushing weight settle on her chest, leaving her feeling weak and numb. She was alone in the parlor but she could not find the energy to rise from the chaise to go and search for her grandmother. Or for Sally for that matter.

Even now, after her sleep, she hardly knew how to feel about the distressing tidings her grandmother had given her, though there was not a doubt in her mind that it was true. Pembroke church had been burned to the ground with Anne Howard inside it. How many others had she known? After living in Pembroke for eight years, attending that little church every Sunday, there were bound to be other people that she knew within its walls when it was set alight. She may not have been well liked by all of them, still Lyra felt grief for them all, and shame that it was her husband who had bought about their deaths.

_Especially_ for Anne Howard, who she had considered a friend. The woman who had tried to convince Thomas Smith to allow Lyra to move in with her family while the war raged. Anne had tried to protect Lyra in the only way she could, by opening her home to her, offering a safe haven. That William had killed her, and the manner of her death made Lyra feel sick inside - her stomach twisted and she pulled the chamber pot close again.

Her husband had killed Anne Howard and her parents. No wonder Gabriel had been so enraged! No wonder he had wanted to lash out, to hurt Tavington by hurting Lyra.

Lyra sat poised over the chamber pot but her stomach eventually settled again. She placed the bowl on the floor and dropped back against the chaise, unable to stop thinking about Pembroke.

Even if some of those people had been unkind, they had never been outright _cruel_. They had not deserved their fate, nor had their children.

Children.

Children had died.

The woman who had witnessed the atrocity - Alice Scott - had reported that she had heard the screaming from those within the church. Lyra was unable to make sense of it - how in the world could William stand stoically by and ignore their screams, their panic? How could he ignore the screams of _children_?

Her stomach twisted with revulsion and she began breathing heavily as a sickly hot flush spread through her, followed by an icy chill which left her panting. Try as she might, she was unable to push the ugly thoughts from her mind, the visions of those men, women and children, screaming with fear, banging on the door to be let out, the children begging their parents for help, the pain when they struggled to breathe -

Trembling, Lyra leaned forward and placed her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees as great sobs wracked her body. Grief, guilt, horror, she hardly knew what to feel. She tried to push the terrible visions from her mind, they were too distressing to consider. They left her feeling distraught. There was no running from it, however. She gulped and drew large breaths, trying to calm herself.

After what seemed an eternity, she finally stopped weeping. Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, she turned on the chaise to lay back and put her feet up. She wished she had a wet compress for her eyes, but she settled for closing her them and concentrating on her breathing.

Although she managed to banish the horrible visions, she could not stop thinking about it altogether. How could the man she loved do something so... dreadful? How could the man she loved be capable of such an atrocity? It was mass murder, carnage, annihilation of innocents!

A massacre.

The parlor door opened and Lyra opened her eyes, expecting to see Rebecca. When Tavington appeared in the doorway, she drew in a sharp breath and immediately sat up, feeling revulsion so keen she almost reached for the chamber pot at her feet. She dragged her eyes away from him in disgust.

"My angel," he stepped into the parlor with a small smile. Completely unaware of her inner turmoil, he sat beside her. "It's been hours, my love. Hours - you promised you would not be so long. I was worried and had Arcam drive me over in the carriage. Are you well?"

Her thoughts were in shreds as she stared at him, at this man who ordered the atrocity in which many women and children had died.

He looked very much as he always did, in his Redcoat uniform and his hair tied in its queue, his black gloves covering his hands. Of course, she _recognised_ him, this man who was her husband and the father of her child, but she could not help feeling a strange detachment from him, as though she had never seen him before.

He had ridden his horse directly into the church, her Grandmother had said. When he came back out, he had watched as the doors and windows were barricaded and his Dragoons set the church alight. Lyra swallowed and pulled her eyes away from him, unable to shake her feeling of horror and disgust.

He was still speaking but in her daze, she had not heard him.

"Carriage?" She asked, distracted, trying to focus. "What?"

William paused and studied Lyra in turn. "I was saying that I had Arcam drive me over here. I asked if you are well," he spied the chamber pot on the floor near the chaise, placed within her reach. "Have you been sick, is the baby making you feel unwell? Perhaps you should come home with me now, we'll put you to bed -

"I'm staying here," her response was immediate. While she was uncertain when she had come to that decision, she realised it was what she needed - she could not return home with him right now. Rebecca's tidings had left her reeling, a confusion of feelings from shock, revulsion, disgust, she hardly knew what to feel. As it was she could barely look at him and at that moment she knew she needed to be away from him.

He was silent a moment, a feeling of dread tracing his spine.

"Here?" he tried for a smile but it was sickly and faded quickly. "Darling, you know I need you at home. Why would you want to stay here?" He reached for her hand but as his fingers touched hers she hissed and snatched her hand away, another intuitive reaction. William's eyes widened and he stared at her with shock. "Lyra," he asked, forthright, "what is this?"

"I don't know you," she whispered as she studied his face.

Tavington frowned. "You don't know me? Darling, of course you do. I'm... me." He studied her carefully and began to wonder if he needed to fetch her a doctor. Her eyes seemed glazed, her expression dead pan, blank. She was so pale and was treating him so distantly, as though he was a stranger. "It is the baby, making you feel strange. We'll go home and send for a midwife to attend you -"

"It's not the baby," she shook her head. "I don't need to see a midwife."

"I disagree," he tried to take her hand again but again she snatched it away and even edged further along the couch to create distance between them. As he watched, she placed her hands on her knees to steady herself and drew in several deep breaths as though trying not to faint. Or vomit. He was concerned before, but now he was downright scared for her. "Something is terribly wrong, Lyra," he said in a no nonsense voice. "If you can't tell me what it is, then I shall indeed send for a midwife. And a doctor."

Lyra closed her eyes and dropped her head back, her expression pained. She could not tell him what she knew, however. The words would not come.

"I am not coming home with you," she said instead, keeping her gaze averted.

Tavington tightened his lips as he stared at his wife, trying to decide his course of action. He had seen this sort of shock before, in his troops on the battlefield. Those troops thus affected needed to be treated gently but firmly. Like his troops, she needed a firm hand to guide her. If he could just get her home, he decided, all would be well. She needed to be in familiar surroundings, thats all.

"You will come home with me, right now," he said firmly.

"No," she shook her head and edged further away.

"Lyra, I will not be parted from you," he said in a voice growing heated with impatience. "You _will_ obey me."

"Obey?" She whispered with incredulity and slowly turned to face him again. "_Obey_ you?"

"You swore to obey me when you became my wife," he snapped. "You will do so now."

He rose from the chaise and glared balefully down at her, though he offered her his arm to help her to rise. She stared at his proffered as though it was a live snake.

"I mean it Lyra," his voice took on a dangerous edge. "You are my wife and you will obey me."

Lyra lifted her gaze to his and licked her lips. She certainly did not want to leave with him, the very idea made her want to recoil, to _run_. But he was waiting for her response and Lyra decided it would be prudent to return home after all. Besides, she realised she had no desire to remain here with her grandmother who had given her the terrible news.

She fought past the feeling of paralysis and rose slowly. Ignoring his proffered arm, she stumbled past him to summon Sally and Edward.

:::

Lyra swayed listlessly with the movement of the carriage. Sally sat beside her with Edward in her arms, exchanging concerned glances with Miss Claire Henderson, Edward's wet nurse.

Lyra would not meet Tavington's eyes, though his concerned gaze was riveted on her. When they arrived to their manor, Sally murmured to William that she and Claire would keep Edward in the nursery and he nodded absently as his wife climbed down from the carriage.

Lyra headed directly for the parlor where she curled up on a comfortable armchair. She chose the single chair deliberately for it prevented William from sitting too close to her. As it was he chose a seat nearby and continued trying to engage her in conversation as she stared, quiet and unresponsive, out the window to the street beyond.

"Dinner will be ready shortly," Tavington was saying. Startled, Lyra finally turned to him, she had not realised it was so late and she began to wonder how long she had been sitting in the arm chair with her husband trying to coax her into speaking to him. "You must be hungry," he was saying. "I've had the cook prepare your favourite - roast pork."

Again she felt startled - her husband had left her for long enough to speak to the cook about dinner and she had not even noticed his absence. She cast her mind back, trying to remember when he had left and when he had returned, then gave up with a shrug and returned her attention to the street beyond the window. The afternoon was certainly dimming to dusk, the shadows outside lengthening as the sun went down. She realised she must have been sitting in her seat for hours.

"Lyra," William drew closer and placed the back of his fingers against her forehead. Lyra closed her eyes and focused on not recoiling from his touch. She breathed a sigh of relief when he removed his fingers. "You don't have a fever... I should have sent for a doctor."

"What of Mrs. Bryant?" Sally asked from the doorway. "Perhaps you could send for her?"

"Yes, good idea Sally. I should have thought of it earlier. I'll send for her now -"

"No!" Lyra gasped, suddenly panicked. Dear Lord, it had been days since she had seen Eleanor - what if she knew of Pembroke already and had not told Lyra? What if that was the reason she stayed away? Lyra's heart was pounding, her palms sweaty. She did not want to see Eleanor - how could she face her former governess? How could she bear the shame of what Tavington had done? No, she did not want to see Eleanor, or anyone else for that matter.

"Angel," William asked, he was standing at her side again and Lyra leaned into the chair further away from him. "Are you certain?"

"I don't want to see anyone," Lyra whispered.

"Very well," Tavington said with a dubious frown. He turned to Sally and whispered, though Lyra heard every word. "We'll give her one night, to rest, to... I do not know what is wrong with her but if she is not better by the morning I will send for a doctor."

"Yes, Sir," Sally cast one last, concerned glance at Lyra, then left the parlor. William stayed behind, his eyes still on his wife as he feigned reading the broadsheets.

Lyra's thoughts had moved on to Charlotte who had not visited for days either. Emily had told her that Charlotte did not like Tavington's constant presence but she still came to visit her! Lyra had thought she had merely been busy but now...

Wilkins threw the first firebrand...

Lord, if Charlotte knew, how was _she_ feeling about it?

:::::::

_Dear Benjamin_

_So much has happened between us I barely know where to begin. I've been angry - furious with you for so long. _

_How could you treat me so terribly? My sole purpose of having relations with Tavington was to protect Margaret who he led me to believe was under threat. That was the price he demanded for her safety! Yes, my body betrayed me but from what Lyra tells me, her body betrayed her when you kept her in your tent for days. If someone as hateful as Tavington can forgive Lyra, surely you can forgive me? __Surely you could understand now?_

_The punishment you dealt me was unforgivable. To take my own son away from me! You realise the boy will never be mine, now? My own son! John and I tried so hard, for so long to have a child. And you know how I suffered when I became pregnant to you and I lost our baby! How could you do something so heinous? And all because the unthinkable happened, my body betrayed me! It had been so long since I had seen you, so long since we had coupled! _

_Didn't you know how much I loved you? Didn't you care, about any of it? Lord, even now, I love you so. I almost died when Tavington returned and I was told the two of you had battled, that Joseph Simms had stabbed you! Dear Lord, I was so worried you would not survive your wounds and it was only now, when Mrs. Carter visited and told me you are on the mend that I can finally breathe easier!_

_Unfortunately, Mrs. Carter bought with her some terrible tidings. I know of what occurred at Pembroke, now. _

_I only married James because I had no choice and he offered me my life back. And because he was close to Tavington, and it meant I could see my son. I have always admired James - not in the way I have loved you, but enough to believe I would be content with him as a husband. Everything was perfectly fine between us, until this morning when Mrs. Carter visited. My own husband - he threw the first firebrand! Lord, I have to leave. I have to! _

_Added to that, I had not realised until this morning that Gabriel perished in battle - he died at Colonel Tavington's hand! Dear Lord, can you imagine for one moment my agony? I can not be here. Surrounded by Redcoats, infecting my very home. Tavington, only a few houses away, the man who killed my own nephew and who gave the order that would see innocent women and children, massacred. I have been told in great detail what happened - too much detail. Poor, dear Anne!_

_I am loathe to leave Edward. Every day spent with my son has been a blessing, but the boy will never be mine, no matter how much Lyra tries to involve me in his life. He would never know me as his mother! I am only allowed to see my son on the Butcher's whim, and I have no desire to be within fifty yards of that murderous madman! It has been a difficult decision to make, but I now know I must make a clean break from my son. He is in good hands, Lyra loves him well - so does Tavington for that matter, as incredible as it is to believe._

_I feel I have been punished by you enough. I need to escape Charles Town and while I can do so without your help, I know that I can make it further if you assist me. You owe me that much Benjamin, for the part you have played in bringing me to this fate. What has happened is, in no small part, your fault._

_I am not asking that we resume our former relationship. I love you, but I do not know what the future holds. Nevertheless, you should know that despite endless trying, Wilkins has so far been unable to get me with child. I was distressed over this at first, but now I realise it is for the best. If Wilkins does not die in battle, I will seek a divorce and begin my life anew - with you perhaps, if we can learn to forgive each other._

_Ben, I miss the children so very much! I want to see Margaret again. And Susan, William, Samuel, Nathan! How are they coping? Do they ask for me at all? Do they miss me too? Please, even if you and I can not work out our differences, I beg of you, allow me to return to them, allow me to be their Aunt again!_

_For now, I am merely a Patriot woman who needs to be rescued from Charles Town. I have no where else to turn, no one else I can ask this of. Please, Benjamin, help me leave this place. Help me leave my husband, for I never want to set my eyes upon him again._

_Please send word, Ben. I need you now as I never have before. _

_Yours always,_

_Mrs. Charlotte Selton_

:::

It was no mistake that Charlotte had signed her letter with her first husband's name. If she could divorce Wilkins right then, she would do it without hesitation.

Charlotte handed her letter to a young man, a young African slave who belonged to a known Patriot family - the Carters. Mrs. Carter had felt certain that Mr. Carter could have a letter delivered to Benjamin within a few days time, and that Benjamin would send help to Charlotte so she could win free of Charles Town.

As she wrapped her nightgown around her body, Charlotte wondered how long it would be before she was free of this horror, and reunited with her nieces and nephews.

She made her way back through her house, past the Redcoats billeted there, and gained her room without hinderance. After a quiet word to her maid - to refuse all visitors - Charlotte took to her bed.


	65. Chapter 65 - Aftermath

**Chapter 65 - Aftermath**

"My love, you need to eat," Tavington coaxed. "Please, think of the baby."

Lyra's gaze was fixed on her dinner, roast meet and roast vegetables. She toyed with the food with the tip of her fork, but had yet to eat a morsel. There was no doubt in her mind that it would be a tasty meal, but just looking at it made her feel ill. She tossed the fork aside and ran her fingers over her brow.

"I'm not hungry," she sighed heavily and rose from the chair. "I'm going to bed."

"Lyra!" Tavington snapped, showing the first signs of his frustration. "What the Devil is the matter with you? Sit down - you need to eat!"

"I'm not hungry." Lyra began to walk to the door.

"I said sit down!" Tavington roared with fury. He had tried, oh so hard, to be patient with her but her behavior was worrying him, he feared for her and the baby and damn it - his wound was paining him, he was not at his full strength and he damned well needed her! He lurched to his feet, ready to grab her and throw her back into her chair.

Lyra eyed him warily and slowly returned to her seat. He nodded curtly with approval though he was still breathing heavily with tension and fury.

"Now bloody well eat!" He snapped.

He watched intently as she picked up her fork and began to eat, he noticed her swallow thickly as though she wished to spit out the food. It seemed the only time she responded to him was if he grew angry and shouted - the first time was at her grandmother's when he demanded she obey him and return home. And again just now, when he ordered her to eat. He stared at her with irritation but she still would not make eye contact with him, still would not speak to him. Nevertheless she was eating now and that was all he wanted. For now. He would deal with her despondency later but for now, he was worried for their baby.

"Thats it, Lyra," he said gently, encouragingly. "Just a few more, and I'll have Sally run a bath for you. We can retire early, if you wish."

Lyra paused with the fork in mid air, she met his eyes with a horrified expression. Tavington frowned, wondering if he was going to have to yell at her to share his bed that night.

:::::::

After her bath, Lyra climbed into bed and turned onto her side, her back to William. He stared at her as he undressed for bed, and by the time he climbed in beside her he had decided to give her her space. He pulled the covers up, reaching over her to make certain she was covered as well, but then he lay back against his pillows, leaving a gap between their bodies. Normally she slept in his arms but he did not press her about it. Within minutes he could hear her quiet snores and he hoped that she would be her normal self again in the morning.

Lyra fell asleep easily enough, she felt so drained and tired. During the night however, she awoke and from that point, sleep alluded her. Besides, William had curled around her in the night, his leg entangled with hers, his arm across her waist, his head buried against her nape. She drew in a sharp breath and slowly, carefully, disentangled herself. She rose from the bed and quietly padded across the thick carpet and out of the room.

The house was quiet and dark, she held a candle aloft and made her way to the chamber Captain Bordon had shared with Margaret. Closing the door behind her, she climbed into the bed there and stared at the flickering candle as it burned lower and lower. She was not certain how long it was until sleep claimed her again. Hours, she suspected.

::::::

Tavington awoke to the sound of Edward crying. The sound was coming from the nursery further down the hall. He turned over, his arm instinctively reaching for Lyra in the bed beside him. When his hand encountered only cold sheets, he opened his eyes and glanced around, sleepily. Judging by how cold her side of the bed was, she had been gone for sometime.

Probably soothing Edward, who had indeed ceased his crying. He hoped Lyra was better this morning, that what ever had ailed her the previous afternoon and evening had faded after a goodnight sleep. Tavington rose from the bed, careful of his wound and dressed in his loose cotton breeches. Pulling his banyan around his shoulders, he went to the nursery to check on Lyra.

When he opened the door however, he saw only Sally and Miss Henderson. Both women looked up, Claire adjusting herself though she was quite decent - Tavington could not see anything he shouldn't while she nursed his son.

"Where is Mrs. Tavington?" He asked, startled to find her missing from the room.

"Sir," Sally rose to stand before Tavington. "I am starting to get really worried! She is asleep in the chamber Captain Bordon used -"

"What?" Tavington screwed his face up in a frown. "When did she go to his room?"

"I do not know, sometime during the night as near as I can make out. When I realised where she was, I went in to see to her but she wouldn't speak to me. She was just staring, all vacant like. Shouldn't you send for a doctor now?"

"Yes, I believe I will," Tavington replied gravely. "She's asleep you say?"

"She is now, I just checked on her again before coming to see to Eddie."

"I'll speak to Arcam about sending for a doctor and midwife," Tavington said decisively, taking the situation in hand. "Edward is perfectly fine with Miss Henderson, he does not need both of you attending him. I need you to speak with the cook about making Lyra's breakfast - choose her favorite foods, something you know she will have no trouble eating. When the midwife arrives, send her to meat once. I will be sitting with Lyra."

"Sir," Sally hesitated. "I do not believe this has anything to do with the baby, I've never heard of this reaction during pregnancy."

"I have," Miss Henderson said. "Though I've never heard of it coming on so quickly."

"You are speaking of that despondency that comes with upset humors," Sally argued. "That's gradual, it doesn't just happen. This is something different - I reckon her grandmother said something to upset her. She's a hateful one, and you know how upset she made Lyra when we first arrived to Charles Town," Sally turned back to William, her last words had been for him.

Tavington listened to both women with equal care and it was his considered opinion that Sally had the right of it, judging by how quickly Lyra's malady had come upon her and how malicious her grandmother could be.

"Come with me, Sally," he said now, leading the way through the manor to his office.

He questioned Sally closely but was unable to pin point what Rebecca Simms might have said or done to upset Lyra. Sally explained that when she asked what was wrong, Rebecca had brushed her aside and instructed her to take care of Edward. She was clueless as to what might have been said but there was not a doubt in her mind - this was Rebecca's doing.

Tavington asked Sally to sit with Lyra while he sought out Arcam. In short order, Arcam left the manor in search of a Doctor and a midwife, and William climbed the stairs to Bordon's chamber.

Lyra was awake, he saw at once. She was reclined against the pillows but when he entered she turned onto her side and curled into a ball, pulling the covers around her shoulders. He tightened his lips as he caught Sally's eyes, the maid shrugged to indicate there was no change.

"Perhaps you could read to her?" Sally whispered. "I will fetch you a book."

"Yes!" Tavington seized on the idea and Sally slipped from the room, returning a short while later with the same book Lyra had read to Tavington all those months ago, when he lay recovering from the bullet wound received while dueling young Tristan Collins. He glanced at the cover title with distaste, "The Princesse de Cleve,". Though he had to admit the book did bring back some warm memories, of Lyra laying at his side, reading to him. Of laying his head in her lap, her stroking his hair... He remembered her scent, her warmth...

Shucking his slippers from his feet, he climbed into the bed beside her and began to read. He stroked her hair gently though she barely seemed to notice, she remained largely unresponsive.

He was still reading to her when Sally arrived with Lyra's breakfast. Tavington nodded to the maid, signaling her to leave the tray.

"Lyra, you need to eat, darling."

No response, she lay curled on her side, numb to his words. He remembered his success the previous evening, when he shouted at her to eat but he was loathe to use that tactic now with her seeming so frail and vulnerable. Still, his quiet pleas fell on deaf ears and so he eventually gave way to his frustration, he gripped her arms, hauled her up and bellowed at her to eat.

Sally must have been waiting within ear distance and she darted into the room with a panicked expression. Lyra, however, began to eat slowly, small morsels, though she gave up when she was only a quarter way finished. Tavington was about to yell again but Sally hurried forward to remove the tray.

"Sir," she shook her head at him, "the small amount she's had is enough..."

"Very well," Tavington replied tensely as Lyra buried herself beneath the covers again. "Where is the damned doctor?"

"Arcam has not returned yet, I'll send him up as soon as he arrives."

Sally slipped from the room and shut the door behind her. After gazing down at his prone wife for several moments, he blew out a heavy breath and began to read from where he left off.

:::::

"Charlotte _Selton_." Benjamin mused as he rocked in his rocking chair. "She signed as 'Charlotte _Selton_' not Charlotte _Wilkins_."

"It must be a hard blow for her, to learn of Gabriel's death and Pembroke Church now after all these weeks weeks..." Burwell mused. The two men sat in Benjamin's tent, Benjamin's wounds were still raw and angry, he could walk around camp slowly but would not be mounting a horse any time soon. Would not be joining the war effort again for months. "What will you do?" Burwell asked him now.

"Help her," Benjamin sighed heavily. "Though not in person, of course." He glanced down at his ruined body and laughed bitterly.

"Danvers?" Burwell asked.

"No..." Benjamin shook his head emphatically. "Hell, no. He is getting worse by the day, I wouldn't let him anywhere near Charles Town. He'd get himself killed trying to get to the Butcher." He paused for a moment to consider his options. "Charlotte had the Carters deliver this letter to me and so I will contact them to help organise a safe house for her within Charles Town. I can get Curly and Skunk into the township to spirit Charlotte away from her house to the safe house, and from there they'll be able to slip out of the town. She could be here within the next few days."

"It's a grave thing you are suggesting, to help a woman leave her husband."

"That it is. But I do have a responsibility toward her. My actions put her in Wilkins bed. She is quite right, what she writes here," he waved the letter to stress his point. "I have done her much damage, and all because her body betrayed her. She found pleasure when she was forced to bed the Butcher, an act she performed because she thought she was protecting Margaret - my daughter. I had Lyra for days, I know how easily a woman's body can be manipulated."

"Time to bury the hatchet then?" Burwell asked hopefully. All of these personal vendetta's were getting in the way of fighting the war. Benjamin was slowly coming to his senses, thank the dear Lord above, but Burwell wished his Colonel had come to them sooner. He had need of Benjamin now, but the wounds he received in his duel against Tavington prevented him from resuming his command.

"I don't know about that," Benjamin tossed his head. "But we certainly need to talk about it. For now, I'll get her out of there, she deserves to be with her family."

Burwell nodded thoughtfully. "You write your letter, I'll send my fastest messenger to the Carter's. Should I send for Skunk and Curly?"

"Yes, please. Before you go, how fares the war? Where is Cornwallis now?"

"Hillsboro. He's set up the Royal standard there and seems to be bedding in for the time being. I plan on pushing back into South Carolina, toward Camden and Charles Town, rather than face him at Hillsboro. I can prevent Rawdon from coming to Cornwallis' aid and begin reclaiming territory. With Washington on his way, Conwallis will have no choice but to keep pushing up - into Virginia, perhaps."

"While we take our country back here," Benjamin nodded approval and he took on a wistful tone. "Yes, that would suit me just fine."

"Where the Devil did you get a rocking chair?" Burwell asked abruptly and Benjamin barked a laugh.

"An old Loyalist plantation. Dan Scott and Orcam led a raid recently to help supply the medical camp here and they came back with this for me."

"Ah, some good lads you've got there."

"Yes, and I have you to thank - that was well done, negotiating their release."

"How could Cornwallis refuse? I still have at least six hundred Redcoat prisoners."

"Hmm, Cowpens was a complete disaster for Tavington. I wonder how the old Bastard is feeling about it?"

"Probably as sore as you, Ben. Don't think I've forgotten my vow - to string you up if you fought your own private duel with the Butcher."

"No - your vow was to string me up if I got more men killed than was necessary, Harry. Did I get too many of my men killed?"

"Shit," Burwell sighed heavily. "No, you did not."

"Then all's well that ends well. Now, tell me of your battle with Cornwallis, when you met him at the Courthouse at Guilford."

"Yes, that was an interesting battle and it shows me how desperate Cornwallis is becoming. He had his men open fire into the malay to subdue us, though it meant his own men being hit as well. It was hot and nasty - Cornwallis's horse shot out from under him -"

"You don't say?" Benjamin murmured with a small smile as he lit a pipe. The two men discussed the battle, pausing only long enough for Benjamin to write a letter to Charlotte. He would help get his former fiancé away, though he had not decided on his future with her.

::::

"I am sorry, Sir, but there is nothing wrong with her that I can determine," the midwife was saying.

Tavington tightened his lips, the doctor had told him exactly the same thing.

"I believe she needs rest," the woman continued. "Time to recover from what ever is ailing her. The baby seems to be growing, everything seems fine but I would not want what is affecting her to harm the baby. So, plenty of bed rest, provide a calming environment, and do not allow her to become agitated. Send your man for me if you have any concerns at all."

"Very well, thank you," William said. He ground his teeth with frustration as he returned to Lyra, who was again laying in the bed after being examined for the second time. The Doctor had said the same as the midwife, almost word for word. William had tried asking Lyra directly what was wrong, asking her if Rebecca had done something to harm her but she had not responded, she had not seemed to be aware of him at all.

Lunch came and went, as did dinner. Tavington had had to bellow at her both times to eat. Sally had stood by watching fearfully but had not intervened this time, not said a word against William yelling at his wife, for it was the only thing that made her sit up and eat her few bites. Lyra relieved herself but apart from that, she did not move from the bed. She spoke to no one, just curled beneath the blankets and alternated sleeping and staring at the far wall. William slept in the bed with her that night, and when he awoke in the morning, she was still there, still in the same catatonic state as she was the previous day.

He left her there, lying in Bordon's bed, and went in search of Sally.

"Will you stay with her for a short while? I have Sir Francis coming this morning."

"Of course," Sally replied. "Miss Henderson can manage both Edward and her daughter without me for that short time."

"Excellent," Tavington nodded and dressed himself. A short time later, while he was visiting with his son, Arcam announced that Sir Francis had arrived.

::::::::::

"It was a victory," Rawdon was saying, "but at a great cost. Lord Cornwallis must have been desperate indeed to fire into our own men."

"Indeed," Tavington murmured. The two men sat in the Colonel's office, discussing the news that had come down that morning. Cornwallis had met with the Continental army at Guilford in North Carolina and a battle had ensued nearby Guilford's Court House. It had been a victory for the British but Cornwallis had lost many of their own men to friendly fire.

Tavington listened as Rawdon read the missive from Cornwallis, detailing his intentions to head directly for Hillsboro. The Colonel was somewhat distracted however. It had been his hope that after a second nights sleep she would be back to her normal self. However, he had awoken beside her to discover her in that same catatonic state as she had been the previous day.

It frustrated him no end, to have to bellow at her to do the simplest task such as eat her damned breakfast! But she would not eat otherwise. She would not make eye contact with him, she stared off into the distance, despondent and unresponsive. She was still in the chamber upstairs now, while Tavington sat with Rawdon. It was difficult for him, trying to be patient with her and he regretted his outbursts of temper - they certainly were not helping to draw her out of her mood. But they served their purpose. If left to her own devices, she would not eat a damned morsel! Resolving to send for the midwife again, he turned his attention back to Rawdon.

"What of Burwell?" Tavington asked now.

"Well, I have some worrisome news there. It seems he is heading back here, while Cornwallis continues to push into toward Virginia.

"Here?" Tavington said, suddenly alert. "Why the Devil..." He trailed off, his eyes wide with horror and understanding. "He means to reclaim South Carolina."

"That was my thought also. Furthermore, he is preventing me from moving inland to relieve Cornwallis."

"Damn it, where is he now?"

"Back at Saunders Meadow's, the Cowpens where you fought him. I've sent orders to the medical camp there to decamp and return here. He seems to have stopped for the moment, I believe his wounded had set up a medical camp of their own, most of them will be well healed by now and ready to join him."

"The Ghost?" Tavington asked shortly.

"Alive, so my sources say."

"Wonderful," Tavington drew a sharp breath and tightened his lips. "Just wonderful."

"He was as bloodied as you, William. More so, if Joseph Simms report was anything to go by. I think it will be some time before he resumes duties."

"He can advise, however. A wounded Benjamin Martin is not to be underestimated."

"Nor is a wounded Colonel Tavington," Rawdon nodded significantly. "I have decided to take pity on you, William. With Burwell on the advance, I sorely need you. As much as you are able, as an advisor. Nothing too strenuous - we can have our council's here rather than the Assembly Hall, until you are well enough to travel."

"I'm well enough now," Tavington said. "The Assembly Hall is only a walk away though I'll admit I can barely walk to the edge of the property here without my stomach stinging like fire. I'll ride in the carriage each morning, and then sit on my rump all day in council with you."

"Sounds good," Rawdon chuckled.

:::::::::

Tavington saw Rawdon to the door, then drew a deep breath and tried to ease his frustration, his anger, tried to keep them from showing on his face as he walked through the house to Bordon's old chamber. It had been several hours since breakfast, it was well after lunch now and Tavington had no idea if Lyra had eaten or not. Before he entered the chamber he stopped Sally as she came rushing out of a service corridor.

"Sir!" She panted. "I don't know where Lyra is! She was sleeping and Miss Henderson was struggling because both babies were awake and howling and so I left her to help with the babies and -"

"You left her!" Tavington shouted. He marched into the room and sure enough, the blanket had been thrown back on the bed and Lyra was gone. "I told you not to leave her!"

"I know!" Sally began wringing her hands and Arcam - who had come running when Tavington began yelling, placed his arm around his distraught wife. "I'm so sorry! Miss Henderson was in such a state - Eddie had such a bad stomach, it took so long to settle him! When I came back I saw Lyra was gone, I had hoped she was in the parlor or perhaps in the gardens - I thought it was a good sign, that she had gotten out of bed!"

"But?" Tavington grated. "You can't find her! Where the Devil has she gone? Did no one see her leave? Why was I not informed?"

"I only just discovered it, I swear!" Sally choked back her tears, terrified now that she was the focus of Tavington's temper. "I went looking for her and then when I couldn't find her I came back here, only she had not returned! I was going to come and tell you now, Sir!"

Tavington closed his eyes and drew several ragged breaths. Yelling at Sally would not return Lyra to him and now he just needed to figure out where she had gone. "Was she dressed?" He asked. "Is her cape missing? Her shoes?"

Sally darted to Lyra's bedchamber - not Bordon's room - and began searching for Lyra's clothes.

"Her shoes are gone, Sir. And her cape. She must be wearing her new yellow dresses, she can put them on without help."

"How long did you leave her for?"

Sally trembled, not wanting to admit it. "Two hours..."

"Two hours!" Tavington shouted quivering with rage. "Jesus bloody Christ!"

He swallowed hard and tried, oh so hard, to regain control of his temper. "She's safe.." he muttered with a nod. "She won't have gone far - Mrs. Bryant's, her grandmothers, Mrs. Wilkins, perhaps. Rebels could not have taken her -"

"Rebels!" Sally cried and burst into tears. "Oh, dear Lord, no please!"

"Calm yourself, Sally," William said in a gentler tone as Arcam soothed his wife. "I do not believe that is the case. She will have left to visit friends. I take it the carriage is still here?" He asked Arcam who nodded - he did most of their driving for them. "Then as I said, she will not have gone far. Mrs. Bryant's, perhaps. I'll check there first, then I'll check Mrs. Wilkins. Sally, you will need to stay here but I have need of your husband."

"Yes... Sir..." Sally choked out.

:::::

A/N: Hi Lisette - yeah, I decided if I was going to deal with Pembroke then Lyra could not be okay with it, even if she was a Loyalist. Innocents died, people she knew. She couldn't just shrug it off. :-)


	66. Chapter 66 - Visiting Charlotte

**Chapter 66 - Visiting Charlotte**

Tavington strode through the manor into the courtyard around the back and climbed into the carriage. He slammed the door shut and sat stiffly as he waited for Arcam to hitch the horses. They drove from the yard, making their way to Mrs. Byrant's. Careful of his injury, Tavington climbed out of the carriage and strode the short distance to Eleanor's front door, knocking sharply and waiting stiffly. The door opened a short time later, a startled looking Eleanor peering out.

"Colonel," she frowned and looked past him, clearly wondering why William was there without Lyra. Tavington deflated - obviously his wife was not here.

"Have you see Lyra, Mrs. Bryant? She has been unwell and took to her bed yesterday but she slipped out with no one the wiser a few hours ago and did not so much as leave a note."

"She's unwell? No, I have not seen her," Eleanor said, her cheeks reddening with concern and... shame? Tavington's eyes narrowed, wondering why Eleanor would be ashamed.

"You have not visited in some time, Mrs. Bryant," he snapped. "She has missed you, why have you not come? You are her friend _and_ a member of her staff. As such, you have a duty to her."

"Yes..." Eleanor said evasively. "I.. I know I've been remiss but I have been busy getting my house in order, it was in such disarray from the months I was gone. Would you like me to help look for her?"

"That will not be necessary,' he said crisply. "I imagine she is at Mrs. Wilkins - I should have checked there first for her house is much closer than yours, a mere walk away. I do, however, expect you to take your duties a little more seriously from this point forward or I will encourage Lyra most strongly to search for a new secretary and companion!" He ground out.

Eleanor held her breath, unable to pull her eyes away from his icy glare. William pinned her with his gaze for several moments, until he was certain his words had sunk in, then he whirled away from her and marched back to the carriage, again slamming the door shut with irritation.

She swallowed hard and breathed a ragged sigh of relief to be released from his cold, hard stare. She watched him leave, then closed the door behind her, before turning to Emily. Her young friend's face was still stained with tears, her eyes still red from crying.

"I'll bet she knows..." Emily bemoaned. "She knows what Colonel Tavington did. What Wilkins did. _What_ Joseph did!" The last was a wail of despair and Eleanor pulled the weeping girl into her arms.

"If she does, child, then she will need me as much as you do now. Oh my poor dear thing," she said soothingly as she stoked Emily's hair. "Are you certain Mr. Simms was involved, darling? The woman who witnessed the... the..." Eleanor couldn't bring herself to say 'atrocity'. "...The woman who witnessed Pembroke only mentioned Tavington, Wilkins and Bordon by name."

"Because she probably didn't know the others!" Emily wailed. "She said the entire troop of Green Dragoons was there and the infantry from the British Legion! How could Joseph not have been there? How could he not have been involved?"

"There, there," Eleanor soothed, unable to refute Emily's words.

"He idolizes Tavington, wants to be just like him!" Emily rushed on. "The Colonel is not the man I thought he was..."

"Hmmm," Eleanor pursed her lips. The Colonel was exactly the man she thought he was, she remembered the first time she met him when he ordered Lyra taken captive and struck her to the ground minutes after meeting her at that Patriot woman's farm. Still, she had not thought him ruthless enough to kill so many innocents!

"Oh, how must Lyra be feeling right now?" Emily sniffled. "To discover her husband... Oh..." She collapsed against Eleanor again in a fresh flood of tears.

:::::

The moment Sally slipped away to help tend to Edward, Lyra threw the covers off her bed and rushed to her room. She dressed quickly, luckily her expanding stomach meant she did not wear stays, therefore she had no need of Sally's assistance to dress. She pulled her short boots on and threw her cape around her shoulders before quietly making her way down stairs and slipping through the front door.

She stayed close to the treelined path, casting the occasional glance over her shoulder until she gained her front gate. Lyra had woken up that morning, finding herself alert - the despondency had left her. Thank the dear Lord - it had been absolutely horrid, she felt as though she had been lost in a maze and couldn't find her way out. William had stayed by her side, she had heard his voice though she had not been able to make out his words until those times that he had shouted at her to eat.

It had been a huge relief to not be in that horrible dark labyrinth any longer, but she had still not been able to make herself speak to William that morning. It had been easier to behave as though the despondency was still upon her, easier than being made to converse with her husband. She felt a desperate need to speak to Charlotte but of course, she could not tell her husband that without telling him why. And so she had bided her time and as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she had made her move.

Charlotte did not live far - four, maybe five houses along the street. Lyra kept her head bowed and walked quickly. She passed Katie and Bradley Collins and gave them a curt nod of acknowledgement and continued walking. She would not have stopped to speak to them at the best of times, let alone now! She hurried past other people, keeping her gaze averted. She imagined she could feel their eyes on her, cold and hard, full of accusation and horror, for being the Butcher's wife, the man who murdered small children.

It was with a deep sigh of relief that she entered Charlotte's small, wrought iron gate and quickly walked up the path toward the large manor house. A sharp knock on the door and a few minutes later, a servant appeared.

"Mrs. Lyra Tavington to visit Mrs. Wilkins," Lyra announced in a breathless rush, almost itching to be inside and out of the view of people walking by.

_Mrs. Tavington. _She thought to herself with a heavy sigh. She had been so proud to say those words when she was first married but now they nearly stuck in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Tavington but Mrs. Wilkins has taken to her bed and is not accepting visitors."

"Taken to her bed?" Lyra asked cautiously. "Is she unwell?"

"No, Mrs. Tavington. She has received distressing news and does not wish to see anyone."

"Ah.. I understand. Could you please inform Mrs. Wilkins that I have received the same news and I desperately need to see her, right away."

"Ah... Well, as you wish, Mrs. Tavington. I will pass along your message - if you care to wait?"

"Certainly," Lyra stepped into the large foyer and the servant disappeared upstairs, returning a few minutes later.

"Mrs. Wilkins wishes to see you, if you would come this way?"

Lyra nodded and followed the woman upstairs, through the house, all the way to Charlotte's chamber.

"Oh, Charlotte," Lyra sighed heavily. Her friend was a mess - her hair unkempt, laying in her bed in only her shift though it was mid morning. The room was dark, the heavy drapes still closed. Only the dim light peeking through the cracks in the drapes gave off enough light to see, Lyra walked over to one large bank of windows, opened one of the drapes wide and the room was flooded with light. The servant withdrew and closed the door behind her.

"So." Charlotte murmured. "You have been told, I take it?"

"Yes, the day before yesterday," Lyra nodded. "I am not taking the news very well. I spent the entire day in bed yesterday. What of you?"

Charlotte laughed bitterly. "I found out a few days ago, and have not risen from this bed since." She sat up, pushing her bottom against the headboard and settling back against her pillows, but made no move to get out of her bed. Lyra, not one to stand on ceremony especially at a time like this, took off her shoes and climbed into the bed with Charlotte, under the covers, to recline against the pillows alongside her friend. "I can't stand seeing all those Redcoats in my home. I know you're a Loyalist, Lyra, but their very presence is a constant reminder. I wish I could throw the entire lot of them out."

"Hmm. I wish I could do the same," Lyra said, thinking of William. Charlotte's eyes climbed her forehead, shocked to the core. Lyra was fiercely Loyal, both to the Crown _and_ to her husband - a Kings Man through and through. "You seem surprised? Women and children, Charlotte! And he just stayed by and watched, he could have changed his mind and saved them! What he did had nothing to do with this war!"

"I quite agree. My niece was in that church."

"Oh, of course," Lyra breathed, making the connection right away. Gabriel had married Anne, making her Charlotte's niece.

"Oh, Lyra," Charlotte wailed as a fresh bout of tears burned her eyes. "I know Gabriel beat you, I don't expect you to understand my grief. But he was such a good boy, you know he was! And now he is dead - Tavington killed him!"

Lyra drew a ragged breath. She shuffled closer and put an arm around Charlotte's quivering shoulders. "I do not blame Gabriel," she admitted quietly. "I forgive him for beating me - I really do. He was not himself - he had been pushed to the brink -"

"His wife... had just been... burned alive!" Charlotte cried out.

"By my husband," Lyra confessed as fresh tears seared her own eyes. She hadn't thought she had any tears left!

"And by... mine! Wilkins... threw the first... firebrand!"

"Because my husband commanded him to!"

The two women wept in earnest, clutching at each other and pouring out their grief.

:::

Quite a long while past before the two women calmed. They fell into a sad but companionable silence, Charlotte now had her head on Lyra's shoulder, their fingers entwined, joined in their misery.

"I've been having nightmares," Charlotte admitted quietly. "Sometimes I dream that I convince James not to do it. That I somehow pull the doors free and let all those poor souls out. Other times I hear them screaming, I listen as they die, with James at my side watching, doing nothing."

"I haven't dreamed about it, thank the Lord," Lyra replied. "But I can't stop thinking about it. I have to force myself to not imagine what they went through because it makes me feel so utterly horrible inside, when I think of them inside the church. Their panic, trying to get out. The children -" she choked on a sob, her tears threatening to overwhelm her again. "How did you find out?" She asked when she could trust her voice.

"An old friend of mine - Mrs. Carter. She came to visit me and told me everything," Charlotte fell silent, remembering who she was speaking to. She cared for Lyra, they two had become close friends but she was still a Loyalist and Colonel Tavington's wife as well. She decided not to tell Lyra about the letter she had written to Benjamin. She would slip away from town when the time came, without saying goodbye. It was for the best.

"It's so hard, seeing him... I can barely speak to him, barely look at him," Lyra confided. She did not have to say his name for Charlotte to know who she was speaking of.

"Yes, I imagine it would be far harder to deal with, in your husband's presence. I do not know how I would cope, if James where here, in this bed with me."

"I've tried sleeping in another room these last two nights but William stayed with me last night. I can't get away from him. He spends almost every waking and sleeping moment with me, all concerned for my welfare."

"He doesn't know that you know?"

"No," Lyra shook her head. She drew away slightly to catch Charlotte's eyes. "Charlotte, you realise James was only following orders?" She tried to reason.

Charlotte arched an eyebrow. "Your husband's orders?" Lyra lowered her gaze and choked back a sob. "I'm sorry," Charlotte murmured, instantly contrite. "I'm sorry, that was low of me, Lyra. I didn't mean it. About James - he could have said no. Perhaps Tavington would have hung him for it, for insubordination, for refusing to carry out a command. But James still should have said no. And if he had been hung, perhaps that would have changed Tavington's mind, perhaps then he would not have burned the church. James should not have played any role in it."

"If he had no choice -"

"He had a choice," Charlotte tossed her head. "No, I am afraid there is no argument for it. My husband killed my niece. He killed innocents and I want nothing to do with him. I never want to see him again."

"He'll return eventually," Lyra pointed out in a quiet tone.

Charlotte remained resolutely silent. By the time her husband returned, she would be long gone. Poor Lyra, Charlotte thought, knowing her friend would worry for her. Perhaps she would leave a letter of farewell rather than cut off all ties completely. She would leave a letter for Edward too, she decided. Explaining she had to go but if he ever wished to know her when he was older, he would be welcome, always.

"It's strange, the feelings that can take you at a time like this," Lyra mused thoughtfully. "I was so shocked when Grandmama told me, I vomited into a chamber pot. I wept harder than I've ever wept before and Rebecca finally gave me a sleeping draught. When I awoke, the shock was gone but I was in so much grief. I felt nothing but revulsion when William showed himself at the mansion. Then yesterday I could barely think, barely eat, I couldn't do anything and did not rise from my bed. And now..."

"Yes?" Charlotte prompted, she had felt much the same as Lyra had just described to her.

"I am so angry," she breathed. "So... Oh, Charlotte..." She balled her hands into fists. "So _angry_! That William could do such a thing, then watch! How could he? It's despicable, I am so ashamed! To be his wife! On the way over here I felt as though everyone I encountered was staring at me with horror, as though I am a monster! I did not nothing! Those people in the church did nothing! They did not deserve any of it!"

"I know..." Charlotte murmured. For the first time she actually considered taking Lyra with her when she fled Charles Town. Surely her young friend would not wish to stay with the Butcher after this atrocity? But Charlotte was fleeing to Benjamin... Lyra would not wish to see Benjamin ever again, after what he did to her. She held her tongue and listened as Lyra raged, feeling every bit as furious as Lyra did.

:::

A short while later, Charlotte's maid knocked on the door, the young woman slipping in quietly, hesitantly.

"Ah... Colonel Tavington is here, Mrs. Tavington," the girl said nervously. "I am sorry, but he is demanding you accompany him home at once."

"Is he now..?" Lyra murmured.

"You better go. He'll probably march up here and drag you back if you don't," Charlotte said. "And I have no desire to see him."

"Nor do I," Lyra admitted. But she shuffled off the bed and pulled her shoes back on. "Will you be alright? I'll come and visit you tomorrow."

"That would be nice," Charlotte smiled, hoping she would indeed see Lyra again. She had no idea how long it would take Benjamin to send someone for her. He must have received her letter by now - she had sent it two days ago. If he moved quickly, she might very well be away the following day and it would all happen so fast, she might not see Lyra beforehand. "Perhaps I'll stop by this evening - I miss Edward," Charlotte said. She had no desire to see Tavington but the thought of leaving without kissing her son farewell, of not holding him one last time was loathsome. She could handle seeing Tavington, if it meant seeing her son.

"Yes, but make it later this evening - I believe William and I have some things to discuss and it might take a while for us to calm down."

"If you do come tomorrow, bring Eddie?"

"I will," Lyra assured her. She leaned forward and kissed Charlotte's brow, before donning her cape and following the maid down through the house.

:::

Lisette: Yep, it was a filler for the next chapter - this one is too, really. But as I think you've already guessed, both were important to show the varying reactions between the three women, Lyra most of all. Thanks for being so excited about what's coming next! :-)

Jadis: I didn't feel right to me to have Lyra come out fighting right away - she's only a young woman, she's discovered her husband has committed an unspeakable war crime and I wanted to give her time to fully digest the news. Don't worry, she's not going to swallow it for much longer, she'll be speaking her mind loud and clear in the next chapter. :-)


	67. Chapter 67 - In Tavington's Office

**Chapter 67 - In Tavington's Office**

The two strode through Charlotte's manor in stony silence, emerging from the house into the courtyard. By unspoken agreement, they would wait until they were home before they began their discussion. Tavington marched forward stiffly and held the carriage door open for Lyra, he climbed in after her and slammed the door shut. Lyra adjusted her skirts around her with quick, jerky movements as Tavington sat tensely across from her. Both wore equally stony expressions, Tavington's face was rock hard, his eyes were ice.

Lyra tightened her lips and with a huge effort of will, forced her hands to relax in her lap as the carriage moved off. Tavington drew in a ragged breath, releasing it slowly, striving for calm.

It was a short and very unpleasant ride home, the tension thick enough to cut with a dagger. When they reached their manor Tavington climbed down stiffly and held the door open for his wife, a courtesy that belied the rage burning inside him. Arcam glanced down from the carriage with an expression of concern.

"Mrs. Tavington and I are not to be disturbed," Tavington told his valet as Lyra swept past him. "No visitors - no exceptions." He commanded as he turned to follow her.

"Yes, Sir," Arcam said warily.

Lyra continued into the house, unaffected by Tavington's declaration. She headed for the stairs, intending to have their discussion in the parlor but his cold, imperious voice stalled her.

"My office, Lyra. Now."

She turned back to him with an arched eyebrow but Tavington strode on ahead of her, and held the door to his office open, waiting stiffly for her to follow. She shrugged, his office was as good a place as any. Better in fact, for the door was heavy and thick, it should block out much of their argument from their servants.

The door crashed behind her, Tavington slamming it shut as he strode past her, glaring balefully as he rounded his desk. He was dressed as impeccably as always, with his Redcoat and breeches, his leather gloves snug over his fingers. Planting his fists against his desk, he leaned forward on taut arms. Lyra took in the scene, his tense stance, his icy stare, his face rock hard. His sheer presence made the room seem suddenly smaller.

"Would you care to explain exactly what you thought you were doing, leaving this house without telling anyone where you were going?" Despite his soft tone, he was livid and ready to erupt.

He had exploded at her often these last few days but somehow she sensed this would be different. He had bellowed at her to make her leave her grandmothers, bellowed at her to eat her food. He had used his anger then, as a means to force her to do simple, menial things she had been unable to do on her own.

This was different, this was true fury such as she had not seen in him for a _very_ long time.

She was not about to let herself be intimidated by him, despite the thrill of fear that shot along her spine. He had that effect on everybody, she reasoned with herself. He would not hurt her and this needed to be done.

"I needed time on my own to think," Lyra said tartly.

"Did it not occur to you that I might worry?" He grated. Lyra met his icy stare without flinching.

"I did," she shrugged. "I could not bring myself to care."

William's eyes bulged, he stared at her with incredulity. His expression quickly shifted to a scowl.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" He asked softly, dangerously. "You could not _bring yourself to care_?"

For answer, Lyra folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin haughtily. William glared at her, a brief stony silence settled between them.

"What the Devil has gotten into you?" William snapped finally as he pushed himself from the desk, his fists now curled at his sides. He made no move to approach her and Lyra was hit with sudden understanding - he was keeping the desk between them on purpose, to stop himself from coming too close. She sensed the violence in him - she could always sense it when a man was about to lash out - and he was purposefully keeping his distance. She gave him a mental nod of approval - his show of restraint proved what she already knew, that he husband at least had a _modicum_ of self control.

"What ever can you mean, William?" Lyra asked him coldly. "Surely you would not begrudge me a visit to a friend in distress?"

"Distress?" William spat. "What's wrong with Mrs. Wilkins?"

He regretted the question instantly, it was hardly a concern of his if Mrs. Wilkins was unwell - he would not allow himself to be diverted.

"Don't answer that," he growled, holding his hand out, a signal for her not to respond. "I do not care in any instance. I do not appreciate your lack of courtesy. To leave this house without any indication of where you are going - it is disrespectful and insupportable. You will never leave this house without informing me where you are going again."

Lyra bristled.

"I do hope you are not suggesting I ask your permission to leave," she snapped. "I am not a child, William. I am your wife."

"And as such, you owe me a measure of common courtesy and respect!" He roared. His voice boomed throughout the room, reverberated off the walls. "I will have both from you, Lyra!"

"Both common courtesy _and_ respect?" She smiled contemptuously. "For _you_?"

William's breath caught in his throat and his fists convulsed at his sides. It was a struggle to maintain any kind of composure at that moment, with his wife gazing at him with such condescension. What the Devil was this about? He had not had an affair, he had not been unfaithful. He had done nothing to provoke this defiance from her!

"May I ask exactly what it is I have done to deserve such treatment from you - my wife?" He asked finally in a tone as cold as ice.

"Your _wife_," Lyra spat abruptly. She whirled away from him and crossed the room to stare out the large window. She continued in a whisper. "I should never have married you."

Tavington froze, his posture ramrod, his jaw set hard. "I beg your pardon?" he said again, far more dangerously than before. "I can not have heard you correctly."

"You heard me perfectly well!" Lyra shouted and whirled back to him. Bright spots of red suffused her cheeks and she trembled from head to toe. "I should never have married you!"

Tavington stiffened and inhaled a sharp breath. His jaw worked as he studied her, standing before him across the desk, her face livid with rage. He had struggled to maintain composure before but now... It was all he could do to not leap over the desk and slap her with the back of his hand.

"Why?" he managed to grate that one single word, his rage rendering him incapable of saying more for the moment.

The time had come. Lyra embraced her rage, let it flow through her, giving her the strength and the will to say the words that needed to be said.

"Because, William," she began quietly, slowly, breathing deeply to maintain a semblance of control. "Because two days ago I discovered my own husband, the Commander of the British Legion and celebrated Colonel of his Majesty King George's army, forced innocent men, women and children into the church at Pembroke, before locking them in and burning it to the ground with them inside it." She held his icy stare with one of her own, locked her gaze on his and took a step toward him. Leaning her own fists on the desk now, she bent forward and finished in a crisp and clear tone, "_that_ is why I wish, to the sweet Lord above, that I had _never_ married you."

Tavington's eyebrows raised but he covered his shock with silence. Of all the things he had suspected might have ailed his wife, this was the last of them. He should have known he would not be able to keep it from her for long, not as he had been able to do in the army camp. There, it had been simple - none of the Dragoons wished to discuss what had taken place at Pembroke, Lyra had not been in any danger of discovering the truth. But he should have known, as soon as they returned to Charles Town the clock had been ticking. He wondered who might have told her, then dismissed it as unimportant. Irrelevant. She would have discovered it from many different sources eventually.

"I see," he said finally, turning his back on her and striding to the bank of windows. He tugged his gloves along his fingers, adjusting them to sit more comfortably, before brushing at an imaginary speck on the breast of his Redcoat. When he could trust his voice, he spoke coldly without turning to face her. "What happened at Pembroke was a military affair and no concern of yours."

Lyra stared at her husband's back, her eyes wide with shock.

"How can you say that?" She cried out finally. "You murdered innocent women and children!"

"Murdered?" He turned to her with an arched eyebrow. "I think not. You will not question this Lyra, you will not question my military decisions. "

"it was not a military decision!" She bellowed. "How can you say that? You admitted yourself you had been in a blood lust for days when I went missing. You could not get the Middleton's to tell you my whereabouts under torture and so you looked to the people of Pembroke for the information. What you did, William, was use your rank and the might of His Majesty's army for your own use!"

"I did not abuse my power!" He shot back in a growl. "I was set to search for the Ghost and his camp, and find his camp I did!"

"Yes - you gained the information!" Lyra threw her hands up with frustration. "You got what you needed from them - you must have, for the Green Dragoons visited Black Swamp that very night as far as I've been able to determine. My question, William, is why you felt the need to kill all those people afterward!"

"I am being more than tolerant of you," he ground out, his voice thick with veiled threat. "I am a soldier, a Colonel as you said. You are a _woman_, you are my _wife_ and you _will not _question this!"

"I am merely a woman, therefore I could not possibly understand?" Lyra taunted. "Well, you are absolutely right. I can not understand! How could you do such a thing? It was heinous, disgusting! I've never been ashamed of you, even when you burned down all those farms and took those women - having your men rape them! This however - I can not reconcile myself with! I find it revolting, disgusting, shaming! I am ashamed to have you as my husband!"

Tavington's fist slammed down against his desk, his ink bottles rattled, one toppled and dark blue ink flowed across the desk unnoticed. The sudden crashing noise made Lyra jump and she snapped her mouth shut.

"You're ashamed to have me as your husband?" He roared. He spun away from her and stalked across the room, rage such as he had not felt since learning of the Middleton's betrayal and Lyra's capture blazed through his veins. "Ashamed! I have done everything I can to protect you! I did everything I could to rescue you from the Ghost!"

He swept his arm across a shelf holding books and porcelain ornaments. Everything came crashing down, the porcelain smashing into shards. "I've done everything within my power to keep you safe! To give you a loving marriage!" His face twisted with rage, his heart pounded and with another swipe more ornaments flew from a lower shelf. Lyra watched him warily as he continued to vent his rage on the room around him, grateful that he did not attempt to strike her.

Tavington stopped suddenly, breathing heavily he turned his back to her so she could not see him clutch his stomach - the violence of his actions leaving his wound stinging and on fire.

"By killing innocent women and children?" She said incredulously. "You are using my captivity to justify your actions!"

"My actions do not need justifying!" He whirled back to her. "It was a military matter, a military decision!"

"Oh, I am certain Cornwallis thought so," Lyra curled her lip, her tone was scathing. "What did he have to say of the matter?"

Tavington bristled. Cornwallis had been less than pleased over his Colonel's actions.

"Well?" Lyra snapped when Tavington remained silent. "Did Lord Cornwallis consider your need to rescue me sufficient justification to murder innocent women and children?"

"It is not for you to question!" He shouted. He drew several ragged breaths then gained control of his voice, continuing softly, "Lyra, I am warning you, do not push me any further."

"Push you? I am trying to make you see what you did was wrong! What if it had been me and Edward in that church?"

"Stop it, Lyra!" He commanded sharply.

"Me and Eddie, William," she continued fiercely. "Unable to leave. Me, unable to protect our son, and the child I carry. The terror, the smoke, the pain -"

"I said stop it!" He roared, unable to banish the image she painted, of his pregnant wife, frightened, clutching his son to her chest as thick black smoke billowed around them.

Lyra ignored him, ploughing on relentlessly. "What if it had been Martin outside, giving the order to burn it down, then standing by and watching without lifting a finger?"

"Then I'd tear him to bloody ribbons!" Tavington bellowed.

"Just as the husbands of those women and children that died wanted to tear you to ribbons!" Lyra cried out. "Just as those same husbands wished to rape me, after they learned of your actions! Gabriel Martin beat me - you saw the bruises! His wife was in that church! Did you even think of that when you were burning it? When you listened to their screams, their pleading to be set free, did it not occur to you that I was still in enemy hands?"

"I was not thinking clearly!" He shouted. "I was mad with fear for you!"

"Do not blame this on me!" Lyra all but screamed. "You murdered innocent women and children! Their deaths were for nothing - they served no purpose! It was a massacre - their blood is on your hands!"

The two stared at each other across the room, neither allowing themselves to be swayed by the other's arguments. Lyra would not let William divert her, she held her ground, trying to make him see what he had done was a monstrous atrocity. William however, was not one for self recrimination, he never allowed himself to feel remorse for his actions. Then again, in all his time serving his Majesty, he had never carried out a task so grizzly, so heinous as what he had done at Pembroke.

William shied away from the thought, shoved down the a stab of guilt, of shame. He had felt regret over Pembroke several times and each time, he pushed the feeling away and hardened himself, neither ready nor willing to face it.

"Do you suggest we divorce?" Tavington asked finally in a soft tone, wondering just how far Lyra was willing to take this. They had fought so often, so many times - but he could not imagine her ever putting an end to them. They were married and divorce was a rare thing indeed.

"I've not decided," Lyra muttered.

"You would _leave_ me?" He shook his head in denial - this could not be happening. He could not lose her - again!

"_You_ would leave me with no choice!" She shot back. "How can I share your bed, now that I know what you did, what you are capable of? You are showing no remorse for your actions, giving me no indication that you understand what you did was so utterly wrong!"

"I do know it was wrong!" He shouted suddenly. The words just came to him, but so did the realisation that he meant them. He did regret his actions, he did everything in his power to not think of it, to bury it down. But now he had no choice, his wife left him with no choice! He had to face it. Now. He would not risk losing her.

Lyra's eyes widened, startled.

"You do?" She asked hesitantly.

"Of course I do! Do you think I am a monster?" He shouted with frustration and flung his arm out - pointing upward. "My son sleeps this very moment upstairs! You are carrying my child within you! Do you think I have not grown to understand the value of life? The need for a husband to protect his family? If I could go back and change it I would! But it is done, there is no changing it! No fixing it!"

Lyra watched him in silence as he poured himself a whiskey and drank it back in one gulp before collapsing on a leather lounger. He sat with his head bowed, his elbows on this knees, his shaking hands running over his bound hair.

She approached him warily until she stood before him, gazing down at his bowed head.

When he reached for her, she did not resist. He pressed his cheek into her rounded stomach, one hand circled around her waist to the small of her back, the other hand rested alongside his cheek on her stomach.

"I don't know what to tell you, Lyra," he said finally in a tired voice. "I am sometimes required to make decisions that others would balk at. We are at war and quite frankly, there are not enough men willing to do what needs to be done. I am one of those men who _are_ willing. It is why I hold the rank I hold, it is why I will continue to rise. I do not regret my actions, not as other men might. However, in this instance, I regret giving in to my rage, my madness. I regret their deaths and if I could change it, I would."

Lyra closed her eyes, her anger giving way to confusion and uncertainty.

"Don't leave me, Lyra," he murmured. "I admit - I should not have done it. I went too far but I vow I will never do anything so heinous again. I will never make you ashamed of me, or regret marrying me, ever again."

"Are you saying this because you feel genuinely remorseful or because you fear losing me?" She asked him.

"Both," came his mumbled reply. "I love you, I can't bear to lose you. I confess I would never have admitted that I regret my actions, never would have admitted to doing wrong in the first place, if I didn't fear losing you. But I _am_ remorseful, Lyra. I've fought it over the last few weeks, I force myself not to think about it and if I do happen to think of it, I push aside the guilt before it can consume me. But it's there, you are forcing me to face it -" his tone became angry now. Contrite still, but angry, also. He drew several deep, ragged breaths and tightened his hold on her, his palm squeezing her stomach as if trying to hold their baby within.

"I have done many things," he continued in a murmur. "Too many to count and if I told you them all you _would_ leave me. But two things I do regret. Pembroke church, and..." He trailed off and drew a heavy breath.

"And?" She prompted gently.

"Killing Thomas Martin," he confided. "I should not have shot the boy."

Lyra was stunned by this admission, completely dumbfounded.

"Everything that has happened can be traced back to that one, thoughtless act."

"Why did you do it?" She asked him hesitantly.

"The heat of the moment," he shrugged. "These rebels... Lyra, I have been fighting them for four years now - you must try and understand! I encounter the same from each and every one of them. They deny knowledge of their family members rebellious activities. They help the rebels, offering aid and then they deny having done anything of the sort. They cover their tracks, spin falsehoods, all to help the Patriot cause," he curled his lip on the word 'Patriot'. "Martin had given aid to Continental soldiers and for that I burned his house down when I could have had him hung. Was that not a kindness? Was I not showing him mercy? But no, his son had to test my forbearance by trying to free a rebel I had taken into custody. I reacted without thinking, but I admit now it was my frustration and contempt for rebels that caused me to pull the trigger. At the time, I did not care about his age. As far as I was concerned, I had rid the world of another rebel before the rebel had a chance to cause us difficulties."

He fell silent for a few moments and Lyra watched him carefully, her hand hovering above his head, ready to begin soothing him. She did not touch him however, not yet.

"I came to realise, when the 'Ghost' started making a nuisance of himself, that perhaps I had gone too far with the boy. Perhaps I should not have killed him. Yes, because of the consequences - his father had become quite a thorn in my side. But eventually it was because the boy had been just that - an impetuous youth. I should have had him roughed up a little for the crime of trying to free his brother. He should not have died for it."

Again that silence. Lyra continued to watch him, not knowing how to feel about her husband's words.

"I do not regret what I did to the Middleton's and those other traitors," he said firmly, pinning her with his gaze. "I do not regret what I did to Gabriel Martin. That was war - they were soldiers, traitors." He sighed heavily and averted his gaze. "But those others - the church and the Martin boy... They are things I should not have done, and I regret them."

Lyra was silent for a long time, she could feel her husband's eyes studying her carefully. She met his eyes and saw, finally saw the raw grief, the haunted shadows.

"I can't change what I did, Lyra," he said, again bending his head to her stomach. "I don't know what you want from me."

"This William," Lyra answered. "This is a good start," she began to stroke his hair and he lifted his head, meeting her gaze. She studied him carefully then nodded, certain she read true regret in their depths.

"Lyra, where does this leave us?" He said urgently, his grip on her tightening.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I am your wife and I love you. I do not think I will request a divorce but... William, I need space from you. I will stay in Bordon's room for the time being."

"Lyra..."

"Just a few days," she said. "I need... time... and space..."

He paused for a long while, knowing fully well that he could refuse to allow her this if he had a mind to. He was her husband, she would have to obey him if he insisted.

Knowing how much more damage he could do their marriage if he balked her in this, Tavington finally nodded in agreement.

"Very well," he said quietly. "I will give you your space." He let her go reluctantly and Lyra took a step away from him. They held each other's gaze, both uncertain, both feeling lost.

"Thank you," she said simply, then left the office and closed the door quietly behind her.

::::::

_A/N: Bain - again, I can't thank you enough! Your help with this chapter was invaluable! It would not have been anywhere near as good without your input!_

_A message for **Kimmy** - I hope you keep reading Tavi & Lyra because you might never get this __message - as you are a guest, __I can't email you directly. I just wanted to thank you for reading and reviewing Tavi & Lyra, and I wanted to address something you mentioned in your Love and Betrayal review. I'm guessing your a huge Wilkins fan and I wanted to assure you that, unlike in this story where its all falling apart for James, I will be giving him a lovely young woman who falls incredibly in love with him in Love and Betrayal. I'm glad you remembered that bit from earlier in the story, when Tavi saved Wilkins life. That will play a small part soon, when Wilkins will come to understand that Tavi did save his life even knowing he, James, was a major suitor of Margie's. He is pretty pissed off with Tavi and Margie at the moment but this discovery will make James' respect Tavi as a Gentleman and earn his loyalty back again. :-)__ I hope that's not too much of a spoiler._

___Whether James survives to the end of the story or not, I won't say! LOL!_ I will tell you that I am planning on giving him a lot more screen time, him and Bordon both. If you've gotten this far in Tavi and Lyra, then you would have read Bordon's fate by now - but I wanted to assure you that I won't be killing off these awesome and handsome men just because they die in the movie. I don't want to reveal too much, but in my other stories, our favourite boys don't always die. :-)


	68. Chapter 68 - A bitter Farewell

**Chapter 68 - A Bitter Farewell**

"Now?" Charlotte gaped at Curly and Skunk. The two men were lurking beneath a large oak, the lengthening shadows helped to conceal them. Charlotte, who had been about to visit her son at Lyra's manor had been alerted to the men's presence in her garden by her very loyal maid. Charlotte walked through her house, as casually as she could, to the gardens to meet the Patriot men. "I was about to farewell my son - can't I do that first?" She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder back to her house, but she had not been followed, the Redcoats residing inside did not suspect a thing.

"There really is no time -" Skunk began.

"Of course she can..." Curly said. "It'll be full dark soon, so please do not linger. But yes - say your farewells. We'll wait at the front of Miss Mathan's house, across the road at the park. We'll be hidden but we'll see you coming out of her gate when you leave."

"Oh, thank you, Curly," Charlotte almost wept. She gave the fellow a kiss on the cheek. "I've left him a letter but it's not enough. I promised in the letter that I'd hold him before I leave..."

"Well, be quick about it!" Skunk said, jittery with nerves. "Christ, if we are caught..."

"We won't be... Besides, Miss Mathan will help get us out of hot water if we're caught," Curly said confidently.

"She'd _try_," Skunk muttered. "Doesn't mean she'd succeed."

"I won't be long, I swear it!" Charlotte pulled her cape over her shoulders. She called for her maid, who knew they were to leave and gave her instructions to retrieve the small saddle bags she had had packed and concealed close to hand. Then she was away, running out of her garden and through her gate, running all the way to Lyra's house. She fixed her hair and calmed her breathing before rapping on the front door.

Sally opened the door and let Charlotte in at once.

"Lyra is expecting you, Mrs. Wilkins. You go on up ahead, straight to the nursery, like. Eddie is awake - I'll go and fetch Lyra, she can meet you there."

"Thank you," Charlotte smiled, grateful for Sally and Lyra's attempt to help her slip by Tavington so she would not have to see him. She knew the way, having been in the Mathan's manor so many times before. She entered the nursery and as soon as she laid eyes on her son, she burst into tears and picked him up to cuddle him close. She avoided Miss Claire Henderson's curious gaze. Claire's daughter, a little older than Edward, was sitting now and she sat on the floor now surrounded by toys.

"Oh, my boy," Charlotte snuggled Edward close against her chest and whispered into his ear, she did not want Claire to hear her words. "I am so sorry I have to leave you. You will be in good hands - Lyra will be an excellent mother. She already is. Oh, if I could take you I would! Please forgive me, my darling boy," she broke down, then, and was sobbing wretchedly when Lyra entered the room.

Lyra stopped dead, staring at the distraught Charlotte with shock.

"You're leaving," she gasped, understanding at once.

"Oh, Lyra! I have to!" Charlotte wailed through her tears. "I can't stay here, please - I have to go!"

"Oh, my dear Lord!" Lyra held her hands to her mouth, stifling a sob.

"Please, understand!"

"I do... I understand, but Charlotte! I will miss you, so much!" She began to cry. As Lyra had comforted Charlotte earlier that day, Charlotte now comforted Lyra. She pulled the younger woman against her, holding both Lyra and her son tight.

"I am so sorry," she whispered. "This is so hard, so very hard! To leave my own son, my own baby! Even though I know you will care for him I feel as though I am abandoning him!"

The two wept while Eddie cooed in Charlotte's arms, not understanding that his mother was about to leave.

"Please don't tell," Charlotte whispered. "I have Curly and Skunk waiting for me, they could get into serious trouble -"

"Curly and Skunk?" Lyra choked on a sob. "They are good at... rescuing women... You are in good hands with them."

Charlotte eyed her in askance through her tears, but time was short, she could not waste it asking Lyra's meaning.

"Will you care for him? Will you tell him about me, how much I love him?" She broke down again, barely able to get the words out.

"Of course," Lyra breathed. "You know I will."

"I've left him a letter, and some heirlooms that are dear to me. My grandmother's wedding band, for his future bride."

Lyra nodded, unable to trust her voice.

"I've told him, in the letter, to come and seek me when he is older, he will always be welcome."

"Where will you go?" Lyra murmured.

"I won't lie to you, I wrote to Benjamin."

"Oh..." Lyra nodded, understanding now - her mind had been working too slowly to make the connection between Curly and Skunks presence and Benjamin Martin, their Commander.

"I hope you don't hate me, for leaving Eddie. For returning to Ben..."

"No... I hope you don't hate me, I have decided to try and reconcile with William. He is remorseful, regrets what he did."

Charlotte drew a sharp breath, angry even as she wept. "Fat lot of good it does Anne!" She spat bitterly. Lyra said nothing, she merely watched as Charlotte tried to pull herself together. "Emily will need you, Lyra."

"I know... I will visit her tomorrow. It's good of you to think of her now."

"I will always think of her, and of you. I love you, Lyra. I would never leave you, you understand that, don't you? I would never leave Eddie either, but I must..." Her eyes filled again and she choked.

"I know. We will both miss you."

"Eddie won't," she cried bitterly. "He won't know me!"

"He will," Lyra said firmly. "I will tell him, and I will encourage him to search for you - but if you are with Benjamin, will he turn Eddie away?"

"Not if he knows whats good for him," Charlotte growled. "He's already made me give up Eddie once, I'll never do it again. It can't be helped right now, but if my son wants me in his life, he will not be turned away."

She shifted Edward in her arms so she could gaze upon his beautiful face, trying to etch the boy's features in her memory.

"I'll have an oil done of him, Charlotte," Lyra offered. "Many. And I will send them regularly, I'm certain I will be able to find you."

"Of course you will, I'll be sending you my address as soon as I am settled. But don't tell Tavington or James - please, Lyra? Even if I am settled with Ben - I don't want them coming after me _or_ Ben."

"I promise," Lyra replied heavily, knowing she had probably just promised to betray her husband, by agreeing to hide knowledge of his enemies where a-bouts. She shrugged it off, this was not about Tavington and Martin's personal vendetta, it was about doing right by her friend.

The two embraced while Claire and Sally watched gravely, and after one last searching glance, Charlotte placed her son in Lyra's arms.

"Be good for your mother," she whispered. Finally letting all claim to him go, she ran from the room crying, and kept running until she was free from the manor, free from the grounds. She crossed the road and searched through the dark bushes. A figure - Curly - came to stand by her side. She threw herself into his arms and wept, as Curly and Skunk helped her to walk along the street to the carriage they had waiting to take them all to the prearranged safe house.

:::

"Not a word to anyone," Lyra wiped her tears and sniffed as she addressed both Claire and Sally. "I do not know what they would do if they discovered Charlotte tried to flee - she's done nothing wrong, and leaving her husband is hardly an offense against the Crown. But she has used rebels to help her, which could be enough to land her in very deep water. No one needs to know about this - she needs to leave, and so we shall let her."

Both women nodded gravely and Lyra sat down with Eddie in her lap, trying to regain her composure enough to join her husband in the parlor.

:::::::::

Over the next several days Tavington and Lyra settled into a new and awkward routine. The two of them met in the dining hall to have breakfast together before going about their day. They dined together and spent their evenings in the parlor, Lyra playing the pianoforte or reading a book while Tavington read from the broadsheets or simply sipped a whiskey by the fire. When the time came, they both retired to their separate chambers, sleeping alone.

Lyra spent her days with Edward, taking him out and about - mostly to Eleanor's little house a few streets over. Emily met them there most days, to Rebecca's annoyance. Lyra avoided Rebecca as much as possibly, even refusing to meet Emily at the mansion. She could not quite put her finger on why - it was not as though her Grandmother had perpetuated the atrocity at Pembroke. But Rebecca would always be a manipulative old witch...

"I don't know, perhaps I am merely imagining it," Lyra confided to Eleanor and Emily over a cup of tea in Eleanor's small parlor. "I just feel she had an agenda all her own when she told me about Pembroke."

"We would have found out eventually," Emily replied tiredly. "It's better that we were told by our families."

"Your family perhaps," Lyra sniffed. "Your mother is lovely. Rebecca, however... She's never liked William - you know they had some fool plan of me marrying Brigadier General O'Hara at one point?"

Eleanor raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I don't know what possible gain she hoped to make from telling me about Pembroke, and yes I would've found out eventually. It's her motives I question..." Lyra said tartly.

Eleanor nodded sagely, having spent the last decade in Mrs. Simms employ, she could not help but agree.

"Young Emily," Eleanor advised her friend wisely, "of all the things Mrs. Simms will try to teach you, learning to control and manipulate people is _one_ lesson you could do without."

Lyra sniffed primly. "That's for damned sure!"

:::

Tavington spent his days assisting Francis Rawdon, the British Commander in charge of South Carolina. William divided his time going over administration work in his office or in meetings at the Assembly hall. One morning, a missive was placed in Francis Rawdon's hand and he rushed directly to the manor on Tradd St to discuss it with William right away.

"General Burwell is drawing closer by the day," Rawdon was saying as he paced William's small office. He barely noticed the empty shelves, now devoid of the ornaments that had adorned them only a week previous. Tavington had cleared the broken shards himself and had not yet replaced the valuable figures. "He has begun his assaults, reclaiming land that we've taken. Our garrisons are holding so far but it will only be a matter of time before I must take the field again. Burwell is gaining more support from the locals, more young men who have taken up with the rebel militia. If he is not stopped soon, he could present a serious problem."

"More young men becoming rebels?" Tavington arched an eyebrow. "I had thought the Ghost had stripped the countryside bare!"

"Well, it seems, after Pembroke..." he coughed delicately, skirting around Tavington's action at the small town. "That the Patriots have gained a large following from those who were content to sit the war out."

"I see... " Tavington murmured.

"And seeing that Burwell is cutting back down this way, it is easy enough for them to join."

"How close is he?"

"Too close for comfort. My intelligence states that he has his eye on Camden. Of course he won't find the going as easy as all that, we still have a strong hold of South Carolina and Camden is well garrisoned."

"But it means we are at a stalemate, we can't join Cornwallis and he can't come to our aid - with him under orders to fortify Yorktown." Tavington mused.

"I considered asking Cornwallis to send some of the Green Dragoons back this way. I will request he send us half of the Dragoons -"

"Under Captain Simms command," Tavington nodded. "I'll want Lieutenant Wilkins and Wentworth and -"

"William," Francis said firmly. "You reallise you will not be able to assume command of them for some time, you can't even sit a horse yet!"

"I still command them!" Tavington snapped. "And I can begin my own recruiting as well. Quite a few young men have come of age in the last year. I will put the word out and begin interviewing the candidates. When he arrives back here, Joseph can take the men out to asses their skills on horse and their sword skills, Wilkins, Wentworth and Simms can begin training them at once."

"Ah..." Francis nodded, somewhat embarrassed. "Of course, it is a sound plan, Colonel. Forgive me."

"For thinking I meant to mount a horse and ride to the nearest battle?" William snorted. "What sort of fool do you take me for?"

"The sort of fool who has been laid low with that wound for an entire month now," Francis said mildly. "A bored fool who is itching to get back into the fight."

"As bored and itchy as I am," William said wryly, "I know my limitations. I will begin the interviews at once, and hopefully Simms and the other Dragoons will be returned in the next two or three weeks. Who knows, by then I might be able to handle a sword again, I need to build my strength back up and training with new Dragoons could be just the thing."

"I couldn't agree more."

"Besides, I can so sit a horse!" William said defiantly. "Lyra almost had a conniption when she came out to the courtyard and saw me astride, but it barely twinged my wound, mounting her."

"Mounting _her_?" Francis said with an evil glint in his eye. "I do hope you are referring to your horse, and not your wife..."

Instead of laughing at the crude quip, Tavington assumed a guarded expression. "Unfortunately my wife has not yet returned to my bed," he admitted finally. Francis and William had known one another for years, since their college days in fact. Still, it surprised Rawdon to have William confiding in him on a personal level.

"Still?" Rawdon replied gently. "It's almost been a whole week..."

"Yes, it has. She is slowly returning to her old self and when she saw I had mounted the horse she chastised me harshly, just as she would have when things were still normal between us. There is hope for us yet..."

"There is hope because your wife _yelled_ at you?" Francis barked a laugh.

"You don't know Lyra," William smiled. "She yelled because she feared for me, which tells me she does still care for me. We sit each evening in the parlor, she plays the pianoforte for me. We dine together, tell each other of our day. But when we retire each evening, she goes to Bordon's old chamber while I go to the one we used to share."

"Hmm, not my idea of a marriage made in Heaven," Rawdon commiserated.

"Nor mine, but I believe it is improving. At least she hasn't left me. I wonder if Wilkins has received my letter yet?"

"That poor old bastard," Rawdon shook his head and sighed heavily. "The shame of it, his wife slipping out of Charles Town with not so much as a word!"

"She left word - a letter for Edward. But she did not explain where she was going," his eyes narrowed and he muttered, "or to _who_..."

"You think she's returned to the Ghost?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. Who else could have had her spirited from Charles Town? She had help from rebels - mark my word," Tavington said firmly. There was not a doubt in his mind that that was the case. They had learned of her absence several days ago, but Tavington had not suggested they send a search party for her, for selfish reasons. He had always resented her presence in Edward's life and her influence over Lyra, who always sided with Charlotte, always allowing her access to 'their' son. Her disappearance suited him just fine, Edward was better off without the rebel woman who would only fill his head with idiotic Patriot ideals if she had had half a chance.

Good riddance, he thought.

"Wilkins can do far better than her," Tavington curled his lip. "He can file for divorce when he returns, and marry a far more suitable girl."

"True, true. A Loyalist girl," Rawdon said and Tavington nodded agreement.

"How goes Cornwallis' attempt to fortify Yorktown?" Tavington asked.

"Well, I believe. He has full control of the area, the Green Dragoons are stationed outside the township and are helping to train some four hundred or so infantry to the light cavalry. He has scoured the countryside of horses and slaves both - freeing and recruiting slaves. He will be hard pressed however..."

The men continued to discuss Cornwallis and Yorktown for well into the night. Tavington eventually saw Rawdon the door and climbed the stairs to his room. He paused momentarily outside Bordon's old chamber, briefly considering sliding in to lay with his wife. He certainly had full faculties again, and his body was healing, he was certain he could make love now without it giving his wound discomfort.

With a heavy sigh he continued on to his chamber.

Lyra, he felt, had to come to _him_.

::::::::

_A/N: Wow! I had awesome feedback for the last chapter - thank you everyone! _

_Lisette - thanks for reviewing! I had several different approaches to the confrontation and I had thought that Tavi might hit her but it didn't feel right after everything they've been through. So he had to take his anger out on their porcelain. Hehehe._

_Kimmy - Agh, I could kick myself - I gave away far too much, though I should have known you might run ahead and skim read the chapter because that's what I would have done! LOL So, sorry for giving too much away._


	69. Chapter 69 - Return of the Green Dragoon

**Chapter 69 - Return of the Green Dragoons**

One evening, a few days before Joseph was due to return to Charles Town, Tavington had a surprise visitor. It was the middle of the afternoon and Lyra was visiting Eleanor, when Arcam announced that Mrs. Emily Simms wished to see him. Tavington admitted Emily at once, then sat on a lounger and studied her as she paced the small office nervously. He noticed she was beginning to show the first signs of her pregnancy, he had almost forgotten she was with child, with all the goings on in his own life.

"Thats a nice portrait," Emily commented, pointing at an oil of Lyra's mother hanging over the fireplace. Lyra's father must have had the portrait commissioned soon after the two were married, for Claire was holding her baby daughter Lyra in her arms with a small, contented smile.

"Indeed," Tavington agreed. He strongly suspected Emily was not there to view the manors artworks. However, he decided to bide his time, she would come around to the true purpose of her visit when she was ready. "Lyra resembles her greatly, does she not?"

"Yes," Emily agreed, then fell silent for several moments. She cast her eyes about the office, not meeting William's gaze.

"Why are those shelves so empty?" She pointed to the shelves that Tavington had emptied with a sweep of his arm, in his rage a week previously. "You and Lyra should visit the Porter's shop for some ornaments."

"I think we shall," he replied with a small smile.

Emily drew a deep breath, seeming to steel herself, then deflated and continued pacing. Suddenly she whirled to face William.

"Joseph is returning in only a few days, and I need to know the level of his involvement at Pembroke," she burst out. Tavington was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

He held his silence for several moments, thinking fast.

It was none of her damned business - his first thought. Charlotte left Wilkins, slipped away from Charles Town with no one the wiser - his second thought. Lyra was still sleeping in a separated chamber a week after their argument - his third thought. Emily, he decided, deserved more than "it was Dragoon business and none of yours". Besides, they were family now and he had no desire to see her and Joseph suffer through an unhappy marriage.

Deciding on his course of action, William assumed an unthreatening expression and rose from the couch. He took hold of Emily's arms and stared down into her eyes.

"Emily, Joseph was not there," he lied compellingly.

"What?" Emily breathed, her knees weakened and Tavington tightened his hold on her arms to keep her from falling. Her expression softened to one of despairing hope.

"I said he was not there," he lied again. "I sent him, Richard Wilkins, Robert Wentworth and several other Dragoons on an errand and no - I will not tell you what it was for it was Dragoon business, though I will tell you it was not related in any way to the events at Pembroke. You may rest easy, cousin, for your husband was not there."

"Oh, William!" Emily collapsed against William's chest, weeping enough to make the front of his Redcoat damp with her tears. Tavington patted her back reassuringly.

"There, there," he murmured above her head.

"I've been so worried, for days and days!"

"Well, that was your first mistake," William said dryly. "Why didn't you come to me earlier? I could have spared you this..."

"I know, I should have, but..." Emily trailed off and made no attempt to finish her sentence. Tavington sighed heavily, understanding what she left unsaid. She had become uncertain of him now, she didn't feel she knew him any more.

"You know Emily," he murmured as he drew away from her and tilted her chin up with his fingers. "There are not many people I care about, I'll admit that freely. Lyra, Edward, the baby to come. Joseph." He paused and gazed down at her significantly. "_You_."

"You do?" Emily whispered. Tavington rolled his eyes.

"Of course I bloody do," he muttered. "I proposed to you once, didn't I?"

Emily breathed a quiet laugh. "You weren't serious though."

"No, I wasn't. But you've become my cousin, you've become Lyra's closest friend, you are family. Family should band together at times like this, wouldn't you agree?"

Emily nodded slowly. "Yes... I agree. William, thank you so much for telling me - I know you didn't have to. Joseph is always saying 'its Dragoon business' when I ask him things."

"It is necessary to keep some things concealed, Emily," he gave her one last squeeze and released her to pass her a hanky.

Emily dabbed her eyes and smiled brightly, feeling much better than she had for days. Tavington called for tea, and the two chatted for a short while until she finished her cup and announced she had to leave. Rebecca was a fearsome teacher and a hard task mistress, she would complain that Emily had stayed away too long as it was.

Tavington commiserated and let his cousin go. As soon as he shut the front door behind the departing Emily, he strode back to his office, sat at his desk and put quill to parchment.

The missive explaining his ruse was away within the hour, it would not do for Joseph to expose his lie to Emily with a careless and ignorant tongue. Tavington knew it would reach Joseph before the Green Dragoons reached Charles Town.

:::::::

The Green Dragoons arrived to Charles Town sooner than originally expected, a mere week and a half after Rawdon requested them. Not the entire troop, one hundred and twenty of them into total rode into the township receiving a heroes welcome.

Women and children stood on their balcony's, cheering and throwing flowers and ribbons down onto the Dragoons as they made their way through the narrow streets, finally ending their journey at the Assembly Hall where they were greeted by their friends and family. Lyra stood at William's side in pride of place at the top of the Assembly Hall's steps, along with Emily, Rebecca and Cole Simms. While Lyra felt butterflies of excitement at the prospect of seeing Joseph again, her skin crawled to be forced to stand so close to her Uncle.

Emily quivered with excitement and leaned forward, almost bouncing on her toes as the detachment grew closer, in her fervor to see Joseph.

William gazed at her with a small smile. Clearly, she believed his lie wholeheartedly and he felt not a trace of guilt. His actions at Pembroke had already broken one marriage and had damned nearly broken his own. Even now, a week and a half later, Lyra had still not returned to his bed. He would be damned if his men suffered any more personal difficulties because of his bad decisions.

Finally the Green Dragoons came into view and Lyra gasped with surprise to see an unexpected face riding beside Joseph at the front of the detachment.

"James!" Lyra gasped and turned to William, who looked equally perplexed. "You didn't tell me he was returning!"

"I didn't know," he told his perplexed wife. "He must have volunteered to return, but I'm surprised Cornwallis allowed him to leave Yorktown when he is so needed."

"You don't think he's come back to search for Charlotte do you?" She asked nervously as she gazed at James, whose face seemed cold and hard.

"Perhaps. Though if he thinks I'll give him leave for such a folly, he's in for a rude awakening," Tavington growled. "Burwell is getting closer by the day and I need all of my Dragoons."

Lyra held her silence. Before the cavalry troop even reached the steps, Emily ran forward with a choking sob and threw herself at her husband. Joseph had a struggle on his hands, holding his wife up with one arm, one foot on the ground, the other still in the stirrup. He shook his foot free and pulled Emily against him, clutching her against his chest. He caught Tavington's eye and mouthed, 'thank you'.

Tavington acknowledged this with an imperceptive nod.

"Thank you?" Lyra asked William, forgetting Wilkins for the time being. Tavington drew in a deep, frustrated breath. His wife was far too perceptive, she never missed a Goddamned thing! "Why did Joey thank you, William?"

"Perhaps for recalling him to Charles Town," Tavington said, thinking fast. "I asked for him especially, not only for his military skills - of which he has in plenty, but with the ulterior motive of reuniting him with his wife. I care for Emily too, you realise."

Lyra's jaw dropped and she stared at Tavington with amazement, then her lips twitched in a smile and she placed her hand on his arm, staring up at him with a very warm gaze.

"That was well done, William," she said, her expression approving. "You are an old romantic, an old softy."

"Shh, not so loud," he jested quietly, though his heart wasn't in it. Guilt curled his spine, for lying to her, for gaining a measure of her respect through questionable means. "You'll ruin my hard won reputation."

"Your secret is safe with me, honey," she said brightly before stepping forward to greet her cousin.

Tavington's breath caught. She had not called him 'honey' in so long. There had been no endearments - even her placing her hand on his arm just now had been a shock - it had been so long since she had done even that much. His guilt deepened but he pushed it away, stifled it down. If it meant Joseph would not suffer the marriage difficulties that William was, he could deal with the guilt of unjustifiably gaining her trust and affection.

He drew a ragged breath and hardened himself as he stepped forward with Francis Rawdon to welcome the Green Dragoons home.

:::

For many of the Dragoons, they had indeed returned home. Most of Tavington's force was made up of Loyalist men from South Carolina, many of them from the Charles Town region. When Tavington suggested a night on the town, at least half his force leapt at the opportunity, each soldier arguing the best place to visit, their favorite haunts. This resulted in at least fifty Green Dragoons visiting pub after tavern after inn, drinking and gambling at each place before moving on to the next. Their number dwindled as the night wore on, as some Dragoons found themselves too tired, too drunk, or missing their women too much to continue with the evenings festivities.

The remaining Dragoons, twenty all told, eventually made their way to the seedier part of Charles Town, where quite a few of their number disappeared into the back rooms with women of dubious virtue.

William sat at a table with his Officers, Joseph, James, Richard and Robert and a few others, playing rounds of faro. Tavington was rapidly losing his coin, the alcohol making it difficult to focus on his cards. He ignored the jibes from his Officers and called for another round of whiskey. James was the only one not joining in the festivities. He played quietly, intent on the cards he held in one hand and the whiskey he held in the other.

"Thank you very much, Sir," Richard jeered when Tavington lost yet another hand and more of his coin disappeared into Richard's pocket. "I now have enough to afford one of these young lovelies."

"You are one of the wealthiest men here," William pointed out. His voice was steady despite his drunken state. "You had no need of my coin to pay for a doxy."

"No, but it will make the bedding that much sweeter," Richard quipped as he rose from his seat and pulled a passing woman into his arms. The startled woman turned in his embrace, then surprise gave way to a smile to see what a handsome fellow it was who had caught her. "You coming?" He asked James, how shook his head and drank back another goblet of the fiery liquor. Richard shrugged and turned to his doxy with a smile, and she made no protest when he led the way toward the rear of the common room.

Tavington's cock gave a twitch, it had been so long since he'd made love to his wife and here was Richard, ducking upstairs to release his tension on a pretty little creature. Robert Wentworth was next, and another Officer, leaving Tavington alone with James and Joseph.

"Christ, but I'm tempted," Tavington admitted as his gaze fell on a young lovely with dark hair. The woman was standing against the wall flirting with another Dragoon Officer but she had been glancing over at William for some time now, with an inviting smile playing about the corners of her mouth.

Tavington shook himself and dragged his eyes away, meeting a pair of green eyes - the exact same shade as his wife's. Even Joseph's hair was the same hue, white rather than blonde. Joseph had been watching William, as William eyed the doxy.

"The two of you look so much alike," William observed now, speaking of Joseph's resemblance to Lyra. "You could be her fucking brother instead of her cousin."

Joseph raised an eyebrow with surprise, he rarely heard Tavington curse. He put it down to the alcohol.

"Now now, don't get any ideas," he quipped. "I know of some soldiers who don't care if it's a man or a woman warming their blankets but I, Sir, am not one of them."

James barked a short laugh, his first for the evening.

"Droll," Tavington rolled his eyes.

"So..." James drawled, tapping his finger against the side of his glass idly and not quite meeting Tavington's eyes. "Charlotte."

William had been waiting for it, it stood to reason that James would bring his wife up when most of the Dragoons had gone their separate ways.

"Indeed," Tavington murmured, wondering if James would blame William for his destroyed marriage. James had spoken out against burning the church - the only Dragoon present that day to have done so. And yet James was the one suffering the worst of the consequences.

"She did not even leave a note?"

"Only for Edward."

"And it didn't occur to you to search for her? What if she was taken hostage?" James asked, finally meeting William's eyes. "We moved Heaven and Hell to get Mrs. Tavington back, and yet you lift not a finger to have my wife returned to me?"

"I did not have the resources to mount a search for her and bring her back," Tavington shot back. "Besides, she left of her own accord, James."

"Yes, and we both know why," James said hotly.

"I'll put that down to the liquor, Lieutenant Colonel," Tavington said in a dangerous voice. "This one time, I will."

James tightened his lips, breathing heavily through his nostrils. The two men glared at one another, while Joseph shifted uncomfortably in his seat, watching.

"I request furlough, Colonel," Wilkins finally grated.

"Denied," Tavington said instantly.

"Colonel -" Wilkins began to protest but Tavington cut him off at once.

"I need you here - with Burwell on our doorstep we have _no time_ for furlough. What would you do, go into enemy territory, alone? You know who she must have gone to. She had help leaving or she would not have made it out of Charles Town. She used her rebel connections -"

"My wife has gone back to Martin?" Wilkins said hotly, leaning forward menacingly. "Is that what you think?"

"Yes." Tavington said simply, undaunted.

Wilkins blew out a heavy breath and dropped back against his seat. His eyes still held Tavington's, his face cold and hard. William returned his gaze with interest, then decided to take a gamble.

"Very well, I grant you your furlough," he said and Wilkins eyebrows climbed his forehead. "You may seek her out, under flag of truce - perhaps the rebels will allow you through their lines to find her. Perhaps. I'll grant you ten Dragoons, for your protection. You may choose them."

James' jaw worked, he cast a quick glance at the silent Joseph, clearly trying to decide his course of action.

"Fuck," he finally muttered. "If I go after her, I'll be a laughing stock. She has shamed my name by leaving as she has. She's shamed me and my family. I took her in when she had nothing! Nothing!" He began to rant, his voice fevered with fury. "Ungrateful bitch! I should have let her rot, to starve! Instead I put clothes on her back! Gave her a roof, gave her back her respectability! And what do I get in return? Nothing! She was my wife, she should have stood by me!"

Joseph and William both nodded agreement. Wilkins fist slammed against the table top, drawing the attention of Dragoons at the other tables. Wilkins ignored them and they turned away again.

"And do you know what else?" He growled. "She could not even give me a child. She was barren with John Selton, she miscarried Martin's baby. The only child she bore was Edward. Useless, thats what she was. I need a _strong_ wife."

"A _Loyalist_ wife," Tavington murmured.

"God damn it, yes - I need a _Loyalist_ wife," Wilkins agreed fervently. "I will not be made a laughing stock. I will seek a divorce, that's what. She'll never be able to return to Charles Town again, she'll be shunned. The fucking Ghost is welcome to her."

"Amen," Joseph said quietly. "You know, Emily's sisters are as yet unmarried -"

"Match making, Joey?" James curled his lip. "Well, I suppose that's the way to go at that. Get divorced, and marry as quickly as possible. I've wasted enough time. My mother is already breathing down my neck, and I've barely been back a day! She was nagging Rich as well, that's half the reason we came out tonight, to get the Hell out of Mamma's house. Rich isn't going to get married anytime soon, and as the eldest, I need to secure our families fortune."

"Not tonight, however," Tavington smiled, his eyes catching the brown haired woman's gaze again. "Are either of you going to partake? That one there might help to clear your head." That last was for Wilkins. Tavington jutted his chin indirection of the brown haired pretty, and James glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened when they fell on the woman who was still eyeing Tavington.

"Not me," Joseph shook his head. "I spent an enjoyable afternoon with my wife and have no need of... Well, you know."

"You're a lucky bastard," William lamented. "To be welcomed by your wife."

James jerked his gaze away from the doxy, his eyes wide with surprise at Tavington's admission.

Joseph was struck dumb, he paused in the act of taking a sip from his whiskey, his hand poised and dangling in the air almost forgotten. He gave himself a shake and drank the fiery liquor down. "I believe I have you to thank for that," he said calmly. "Are you and Lyra..."

"Having difficulties? Yes," William said.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Joseph murmured, while Wilkins gazed at him thoughtfully. "The two of you seemed content with each other earlier today."

"Hmm, we are on the mend," William said, pulling his eyes away from the doxy. A married man having difficulties in his marriage bed could not let his cock do the thinking for him. The woman was tempting, for certain, but Tavington recognised that he was a man starved. He was also very drunk. He eyed the woman again, noting that while she not a beauty like his own wife, she did have pretty blue eyes.

No. There was only one pair of eyes he wanted to gaze into in the heat of passion and they were a brilliant green. Two beautiful emeralds - Lyra's eyes.

"Then for fucks sakes, keep it in your breeches," Wilkins muttered as Tavington took a large gulp of his whiskey. "If things are on the mend, keep it that way. Besides, if your wife finds out you fucked my sister, she'll kill you."

Tavington spluttered out his whiskey, spraying it all over the table. He wiped his mouth slowly and stared at James with shock. Joseph was every bit as astonished.

"My half sister," James affirmed, nodding toward the woman. "The result of a... youthful indiscretion, on my father's part."

"Jesus Christ!" William burst out. "You must be joking!"

"All the skeleton's are coming out of the closet tonight," Joseph chuckled.

"Discretion, if you please," James said primly. "My father only told me a few years ago. My mother doesn't know. Hell - my half sister doesn't know who her father is. Even still, Sir, I'd really rather you _didn't_ roger my sister."

"Jesus Christ!" Tavington exploded again. "Your sister?"

"Discretion," James repeated, pointing his finger at Tavington as he drank from his goblet.

"Why is she here?" Joseph asked. "I had thought better of your father, I would have thought he would provide for a natural child."

"He does," James shrugged. "Gives the girls mother a substantial annuity, he only told me about her so that I would continue to look after her in case of his death. I imagine she's here to snag herself a husband."

"Ah, that would explain it," Joseph nodded.

"Jesus Christ," William seemed unable to say anything else. He kept his gaze averted from the woman, James' half sister. "I'd already decided not to tumble the wench. Nevertheless... Shit, I think I might just go home before I get into any more trouble." He muttered as he rose from the table.

"I'll join you," Joseph laughed and slapped Tavington on the back. "James?"

"No," James tossed his head. "I'm going to 'partake'. Don't tell your wife's sisters," he growled, already deciding that Joseph's advice was sound. A good Loyalist girl, and the Lord knew Emily's sisters were pretty enough.

"Dragoon business," Joseph and William said in unison, leaving Wilkins to choose himself a pretty for the evening.

The cool air hit Tavington like a hammer. He stopped dead in the street, weaving slightly.

"Too much whiskey," Joseph muttered. "We'll pay for this tomorrow."

"We certainly will."

The two men began stumbling along the road, winding their way through the narrow streets toward the wealthier section of Charles Town.

"I thought that was going to come to blows," Joseph said finally. "I was certain Wilkins was going to hit you."

"So was I," William admitted. "Which is why I offered him furlough. It made him think, didn't it?"

"That it did," Joseph nodded. "You've made the right choice there, William. Not taking a doxy. Things will come right with Lyra, but not if she finds out you've been unfaithful."

"Hmm," Tavington glanced away, keeping a poker-face. This was not a topic he wished to be discussing now.

Sensing William's reticence, Joseph changed the subject. The two chatted amiably enough until they reached Broad St, when William bid Joseph farewell, and Joseph continued on down toward the mansion.

The mansion Lyra _gave_ to him... William tossed his head as he continued on toward Tradd St.

It still astounded him, that she could cede ownership to an entire property such as the one on Broad St. She had been quite correct, he would never have allowed her to do such a thing after they had married. He kept a fairly tight control of their wealth, her generosity would see them buggered in a handful of years if they were not careful. They had already lost Green Haven, thanks to the god damned Ghost. Though William did sell the property for a tidy figure which was now maturing in investments abroad. He was not worried for their future wealth, but it paid to be careful.

He'd hoped the walk would clear his head but as he stumbled into Tradd St he realised he was still very drunk. He did not want to go home in such a state, not when his wife was finally warming to him. His cock felt uncomfortable in his breeches, still very hard after eyeing Wilkins' sister and imagining sliding inside her velvety warmth.

As he past by the Collins, he happened to see candlelight flooding the porch and there was Katie Collins sitting on her porch, evidently enjoying the fresh evening. Tavington stopped dead and stared at her with ideas of walking up and sitting beside her on the lovers seat, of lifting her skirts and taking her into his lap to ease his need. She was pretty enough and quite talented. Eager.

Could he?

He had promised Lyra he would be faithful, but that was so long ago and right now his need was so great. Lyra needed her space, she would not come to him and would probably send him away if he went to her. He gazed at Katie from the shadows, his heart thumping, his cock again about to do the thinking for them both.

He reined himself in, forced himself to continue on his way.

_Katie Collins,_ he scoffed to himself. _Christ, I must be desperate to consider her. Or very drunk._

William continued on to the manor next door - his and Lyra's home. It was dark in the foyer, a single lit candle was waiting for him. He smiled, knowing it was a gesture from his wife, the woman he loved. He picked up the candle in its holder and made his way to his chamber. As he did every evening, he stopped at Lyra's door. This evening was different, his cock gave another twitch and thoughts of making love to his wife almost drove him wild.

With a deep breath he forced his legs to keep moving, carrying him further from Lyra's door.

Even in his drunken state, he knew that she had to come to him. He undressed in his chamber by the light of the candle, then collapsed across his bed, falling promptly to sleep.

:::::

A/N - Thanks Mimi, I'm glad you're enjoying the story!


	70. Chapter 70 - The Beginning of the End

**Chapter 70 - The Beginning of the End**

With most of the Green Dragoons back in Charles Town, Tavington's days were filled. He interviewed new recruits, organised their uniforms, lodged requests with the War Office to assign the new men their rank. His wound still prevented him from taking on the more active duties of training the recruits himself and he was forced to leave that to Joseph and James.

As Francis Rawdon's second in command, his days were filled with administration while Rawdon spent days, sometimes weeks, away from Charles Town. Every morning William shaved, combed his hair and tied it back into a perfect queue, he dressed impeccably in his Redcoat and breeches. He breakfasted with Lyra before kissing her cheek and heading out to the Assembly Hall to attend his duties.

Eventually he was able to ride his brown mare, rather than take the carriage. His wound was healed though it was still tender and stung like fire if he exerted himself too far, which he discovered to his detriment one afternoon when he decided to ride out with his Dragoons for a training exercise.

The Colonel had been back in Charles Town for almost two months and he had had enough of war councils and interviewing new recruits, he had had enough of administering from the background while Rawdon took the more active duty of visiting the nearby garrisons and skirmishing with Burwell, who was drawing ever closer.

Feeling frustrated, bored and _itching_ to be doing more, William took his men out to the country side for a mock battle.

Once outside Charles Town, the Dragoons split into two groups, one led by James, the other by William. The two groups entered into a heated battle using blunted weapons, to give the new Dragoons a chance to test their skills against seasoned veterans.

The mock battle was fierce, Lieutenant Richard's arm was damned near broken when a blunted saber crashed against his elbow. William fought zealously, swinging his saber up and around, whacking the rumps of horses and sending Dragoons reeling from their saddles. They screamed curses at each other as they fought, and despite the many bumps and bruises, it was the most fun any of the men had had since the disastrous battle that was now being referred to as 'Cowpens'.

Afterward however, Tavington regretted every swing of his saber, every twist of his mount. By the time they returned to Charles Town, his stomach was on fire - both itchy and stinging at the same time. He dismounted from his horse in the courtyard at the rear of his manor and walked stiffly inside to search for his valet.

"Arcam," Tavington sighed heavily and resisted the urge to rub at his aching stomach. He wondered, quite seriously, if he'd torn the damned wound open again, it hurt so terribly. "Would you have a hot bath drawn for me? I need a damned good soak."

"Of course, Sir," Arcam nodded and went off to do Tavington's bidding. Lyra had heard the exchange and she came forward full of concern.

"Are you well, William? Did you do too much today?"

"No, my angel," he lied blank faced. "I merely had no wish to offend you with my stench. I stink of horse."

"That you do," Lyra wrinkled her nose. "I wish to enjoy my evening with you tonight and I do not believe that will be possible with such a... _distinctive_ odor..."

Tavington's breath caught. Enjoy the evening with him? Did that mean she was finally returning to their chamber? Ignoring the pain in his stomach, he smiled warmly and put his arms around her waist, drawing her close.

"I will scrub myself clean for you my love," he murmured and pressed his forehead to hers. "If tonight is to be a special night."

"Pardon?" Lyra gasped warily. "No, William - have you forgotten? We're supposed to be going out tonight, its Thursday, remember?"

"Oh, you meant dinner," William deflated instantly. He drew away from her, his hands fell to his sides. "Yes, of course you did."

"I.. ah..." Lyra glanced around furtively, embarrassed and aggrieved at the same time. "Is that not what you meant, also?"

"Yes," he lied coolly. "Of course it was. I shall go and get ready now."

He swept past her and walked stiffly to his chamber.

::::::

As an attempt to court his wife, each Thursday Tavington took Lyra to dinner. It had begun a month or so previous, when William had taken Lyra out to celebrate her nineteenth birthday. They had enjoyed the Kings Arms Tavern so thoroughly that it became a weekly event. Nevertheless, each Thursday when they returned home after dining out, they retired to their separate chambers.

When they started this routine, Tavington had felt certain their separation would not last much longer. He had exulted earlier that evening, believing she was finally returning to his bed. Now, sitting in his hot bath, he brooded over his misunderstanding.

Of _course_ she had meant dinner...

William blew out a vexed sigh of frustration. Oftentimes, he considered simply retiring with her to her chamber - he was tired of waiting!

After that disastrous evening, celebrating the Green Dragoons return, William had sworn off liquor. After waking up the following morning feeling so sick, he swore never to drink so much again. Especially when he recalled being tempted by other women, the doxy who turned out to be James Wilkins' sister, and Katie Collins, who had always been a doxy. Now, he drank only sparingly and while he occasionally glanced twice at a pretty woman, he never again entertained the idea of giving into temptation and straying from his marriage bed.

He was still a man with needs, nevertheless, surely Lyra missed their intimacy as much as he did? He should take matters into his own hands, that's what. he should go to her, make love to his wife. Remind her of how much she used to love him.

But again, he held his ground - berating himself as he always did when he felt himself giving in to his need. She had to come to him. And that was final.

He washed himself vigorously, removing the stench of horse. The hot water offered no comfort after all, his stomach was on fire, his head was killing him - even his rump hurt, he was unused to the saddle. Tavington decided it was time to begin working harder, building his body back up to its full strength.

A seasoned Green Dragoon with a sore backside. Who ever heard of such!

:::::

It was now three and a half months since Cowpens and after a solid month of training, Tavington's stamina was increasing. He spent hours alternately in the saddle or training his men, teaching the new recruits fighting skills such as boxing and fencing. Most of them had knowledge of such already but Tavington had been a master with the blade for many years and his men certainly benefited from his instruction.

He ignored the pain in his stomach until it became too painful to continue, but each day was better than the last as he grew stronger.

As Burwell drew closer to Charles Town, reclaiming territory from the British, Tavington began leading his Dragoons further out, sometimes staying away for several nights in an attempt to secure the terrain. Francis Rawdon often accompanied the Green Dragoons, which occasionally skirmished with the small units of Continental's that Burwell sent out. Tavington and Rawdon commanded the skirmishes from the rear, they did not enter the actual fighting.

One large skirmish took place near to Camden. Intelligence arrived that Burwell would try to take the garrison at Camden. Rawdon had rushed with Tavington and some nine hundred of the British force to meet the attack, meeting the enemy at Hobkirk's Hill.

The skirmish pushed Tavington to his limit. No longer satisfied to command from the rear, he charged in with his Dragoons into the thick of the fighting, grateful that he had been training and building his strength. Even still, his stomach wound was on fire at the end of the skirmish, and he limped his horse back to Francis Rawdon's side.

"The Ghost seems back to full strength," Tavington panted as he drew alongside his commander.

"Christ, is he here?" Rawdon exclaimed, shocked to the core.

"Don't know why that would surprise you," Tavington muttered as he watched the rebels withdraw. "I'm here, aren't I? No reason for Martin not to be. I only caught glimpses of him though, before Burwell began calling for the retreat."

"Damn. We're going to have a repeat of the last year, aren't we? Chasing that fox through the damned swamps, him alluding us all over again. If only you'd killed the bastard at Cowpens."

"If only," Tavington muttered before letting loose a string of curses. He eventually drew several large breath's and forced himself to calm. "Your orders?" He ground out.

"I am leaving the Green Dragoons here at the garrison, I need them to keep this area secure. You and I will fall back to Camden, which we will hold until our reserves arrive, two weeks at most."

Tavington frowned. "You are leaving the Green Dragoons here but I am to accompany you?"

"Is that a problem, Colonel? You are about to fall out of that saddle and don't think I haven't seen you clutching at your damned stomach. You will leave Lieutenant Colonel Wilkins in charge here, and you WILL accompany me to Camden."

Tavington tightened his lips but did as he was commanded. James was left with a large portion of Green Dragoons while the rest of the army fell back to Camden. William conferred with Rawdon in an advisory capacity, but Rawdon strictly forbade the Colonel from exerting himself any further for the time being. After a few days rest, Tavington was back to his full strength and often slipped away to test his swordsmanship against Lieutenant Richard Wilkins.

They remained in Camden for almost two weeks, when Rawdon announced he was no longer able to hold the town and it must be abandoned. The Ghost had been up to his usual tactics, playing havoc on Rawdon's supply lines and disrupting communications from Charles Town. Furthermore, Burwell kept a large and fearsome presence on Rawdon's right flank, and so the British Commander had been left with no choice. He ordered the withdrawal and fell back to Moncks Corner, abandoning Camden completely.

"This is the beginning of the end, you realise?" Tavington murmured as he rode away from Camden at Francis Rawdon's side.

"No, William. The beginning of the end _began_ at the Battle of Cowpens."

Tavington drew in a sharp breath, his face reddened with fury and his grip tightened on his reins. He held Rawdon's stare, the Commander gazed back steadily.

"You believe I am to blame for this, for my failure at Cowpens?" Tavington ground out.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Rawdon muttered. "I never meant anything of the sort. Trust you to read meaning in my words that was not there. It's about time you returned to Charles Town, William. Go and work out your differences with your wife for once and for all. Or get yourself a whore at Moncks Corner. You are in need of a good rogering."

Tavington bristled to be thus reminded of his marriage difficulties but was only too happy to take Rawdon up on his offer to return to Charles Town, he had not seen Lyra in some weeks now. Instead of resting at Moncks Corner, Tavington continued on directly for home, surrounded by a small force of Dragoons. They arrived in the early afternoon, Tavington riding directly for the manor he shared with Lyra.

She met him in the courtyard behind their manor, waiting nervously as he dismounted and strode over to her.

"Oh, dear Lord, I've missed you," William, forgetting his resolve to wait for her to come to him, pulled his startled wife into his arms.

"I've missed you, too," she admitted. "Are you well?"

"I am perfectly fine," he replied, before tilting her chin up with his fingers and giving her a big, satisfying kiss on her lips. He drew away and glanced down at her stomach with a deep chuckle. "You're getting bigger each time I see you! How is our boy?"

"Our _girl_ is fine," Lyra said, withdrawing from him every so slightly. Tavington frowned to see her expression change to irritation. "I'm six months pregnant now, the baby still has more growing to do and I'll get bigger even than this."

William moved his hand from the small of her back to her stomach and Lyra swallowed as his fingers caressed her there.

"I will get bigger, but in three more months the baby will be born and I'll be back to normal!" She said rather hotly.

"Lyra," William murmured. Ignoring his wife's challenging gaze, he cupped her face with both his hands and kissed her brow. "Do you think I do not desire you now you are getting heavier with my child? Christ, you are the most beautiful woman in the colonies. You always have been, you are now, and you always will be."

"Only in the colonies?" She laughed, the fury and challenge melting from her.

"In the colonies, in England and in Scotland. I haven't been anywhere else, so I can't tell you."

Lyra sighed heavily and leaned against his chest.

"How is Eddie?" He asked as he stroked her back.

"Misses his father," Lyra murmured. "You'll have to spend some time with him before we head out later."

"Head out? We're going out?"

"It's Thursday," she smiled up at him. "Unless you'd rather stay home - are you tired?"

"Not at all," he lied. Christ, he'd just spent the day in the saddle, of course he was bloody tired! But he wanted things to return to the way they were between them, so desperately, that he would give her the moon on a necklace if he could. If she wished to dine out, then dine out they shall.

"After your bath," Lyra squished up her nose. "You stink of horse."

"I always stink of horse," Tavington chuckled.

::::::

::::::::::

"Straight home and straight to bed, I think," Lyra said as they walked along the dark and empty street from the King Arms Tavern. It had been an enjoyable evening, sitting in a quiet corner, chatting over dinner by candlelight.

"Hmm," Tavington glanced down at her tentatively. Her fingers were wound through his and she leaned her head against arm, and he wondered if she was finally ready to return to his chamber. "Will you be retiring to Bordon's room tonight?"

Lyra drew in a heavy breath, she lifted her head from his arm and gazed up at him shyly, almost nervously. "Well... That is... I was thinking that perhaps -"

Her words were cut short when figures began emerging from the darkened corners of the buildings. Tavington stopped short and gripped Lyra's arm, instantly aware, his eyes riveted on the figures approaching from all sides.

"You stay right there, my angel," he whispered to Lyra in a low growl, urging her back into a dark corner, a shallow alcove. He turned his back on his frightened wife to face the men, recognising them as they drew closer.

Danvers. Dan Scott. Rollins. Colt. Billings. Tavington had caused harm to each one of them, their wives had been raped or, as in Billings' case, whose wife and child had been killed when Tavington raided his farm.

William began to seethe with rage. It was happening again - these God damned rebels, these sons of bitches, come to threaten his family. Again! How often would he have to deal with the bastards? He decided then and there that tonight would be the last time. Only over his dead body would any of them walk away alive.

"Everything is going to be just fine," his words were for Lyra but his eyes were on the sneering rebels forming a semi circle around him.

"William," Lyra moaned. She wrung her hands and stared fearfully at the men. "Oh, honey..."

"Oh, honey," Danvers mimicked in a sing song voice. He jeered past Tavington at Lyra. His tone took on a sinister edge. "Your 'honey' is going to be dead in the next few minutes, whore. But don't worry, I'll take care of you." He laughed menacingly.

"I will too," Dan Scott smiled coldly. "We'll all have a go at taking care of you."

"All five of you? It's a job I've managed to do on my own thus far," Tavington's calm tone belied his fury, he even managed a taunting smile. "It's the measure of the man, I dare say."

"Count again, Butcher," Danvers growled as a sixth figure emerged from the darkness. Lyra gasped but Tavington merely nodded.

"Well met, Ghost," he said coldly.

Benjamin Martin nodded in greeting. "Indeed, Butcher."

"See? I told you. He's a predictable bastard," Danvers announced with a derisive laugh. "Every Thursday when he's in Charles Town, like clockwork."

Lyra glanced up the dark street one way then down the other, hoping a Redcoat patrol would come along but except for the eight of them, the street was devoid of life.

"Is there any need to involve my wife in this?" William ignored Danvers, he posed his question to Benjamin Martin. "I know you would not wish her harm."

"I wish her no harm, it's you we've come for -" Benjamin began.

"We're all having a go with her this time!" Danvers growled, rounding on Benjamin at once. "We kill the Butcher, we fuck his wife and leave her body right here in this alley."

"Yeah," Rollins said menacingly and Benjamin gritted his teeth with frustration. "No quarter. Or rather, _Tavington's_ quarter," he laughed at his own quip.

Tavington snarled, understanding the jibe. There would be no quarter given at all.

Feeling faint with terror, Lyra clutched the wall and willed her knees not to buckle. All she could do was watch as her husband seemed to 'loosen'. Giving himself a slow shake, he strode forward calmly, drawing the rebels into the centre of the narrow street. They formed a circle around him, spaced apart equally, facing inward toward Tavington in the centre. She closed her eyes and drew a ragged breath, then snapped them open to watch her husband fight not only for his own life, but for his family.

"Be careful of the uniform," William taunted quietly as he brushed an imaginary speck from the breast of his Redcoat. "My wife hates to sew."

Lyra's eyes widened. He sounded so composed, so cold! He had his back to her but she could see it in his stance, hear it in his voice - he was calm, in complete control.

"I've been looking forward to this a long time, Butcher," Danvers smiled. "I'll enjoy cutting that Redcoat to ribbons with you inside it."

"You'll not have her," Tavington said quietly, meeting Benjamin's eyes, ignoring Danvers as though the rebel was beneath his notice. "You will all die, and you will not have her."

"We shall see," Benjamin said with equal calm. He appeared as composed as Tavington, while his comrades seemed to jitter with energy and nerves.

"Six to one," Scott laughed low. "You always were a cocksure bastard."

"Yes, six to one!" Lyra cried out suddenly, hysterically. "You're all so brave, aren't you?"

"Shut it, whore," Danvers scowled.

"Keep back, Lyra," William shot over his shoulder without taking his eyes off the rebels. How the Hell he could keep an eye on each one was beyond Lyra, but he seemed to be doing just that. She resolved to stay silent, not to distract him.

The men suddenly went quiet, deadly quiet - even William.

The calm before the storm.

:::

_A/N - I'm doubly evil because not only have I left this chapter on a cliff hanger, but the next chapter needs loads of work and probably won't be up right away! Sorry!_

_Kimmy - Sorry, I forgot to respond to your earlier review - about Charlotte the Harlot - LOL! I laugh each time I read that. Poor, hard done by, Charlotte. Thanks - I'm glad your still enjoying the story. :-)_


	71. Chapter 71 - No More Vendettas

**Chapter 71 - No More Vendettas**

William stood as still as a statue with his fists curled at his sides in the centre of the small circle. In contrast the rebels shifted from foot to foot, drawing their daggers and watching Tavington warily. To Lyra, the rebels seemed suddenly on edge and uncertain - perhaps due to Tavington's apparent calm. The rebels shared quick, wild-eyed glances. The only one who maintained his calm was the Ghost. Lyra could see Benjamin's face, cold and hard. He and Tavington faced one another as though no one else existed.

Colt was the first to break under the tension. His face twisted and he rushed forward with a low growl, his dagger held high.

Tavington whirled from Martin and grabbed Colt's wrist with an iron grip, halting the blade inches from his throat. In one fluid motion he drew and swung his saber, slicing across Colt's chest. The rebel screamed and collapsed to the ground, blood gashing from the wound. Martin lunged in and William whirled back, smashing the hilt of his saber into Martin's face. Benjamin staggered back, reeling and dazed, clutching at his bloody nose.

Ignoring him for now, Tavington spun back to the stunned rebels. Their shock lasted only an instant.

"Now!" Danvers screamed and all four of them rushed in at once. William spun his blade in a deadly circle, his saber whistling through the air. As one, the rebels cursed and staggered back to avoid the lethal blade, Danvers lost his balance and fell to his rump, the saber flying harmlessly above his head.

Tavington stopped suddenly to face Rollins. The rebel darted in with his dagger - too slow. William slashed, his blade carved Rollins arm, and a well placed kick to the stomach collapsed the rebel to the ground.

"Carefully, god damn it!" Benjamin bellowed.

Tavington whirled as Danvers, Billings and Scott rushed him again. He barely noticed Benjamin's frustrated growl as he, too, raced forward to help his men. Tavington hissed as a knife scored along his side. He ignored the pain, dropped to a crouch. Ducking beneath many more dagger thrusts, he whirled his saber in a low circle. Danvers and Martin cursed and leapt back from the low flying blade.

The slower Billings bellowed as the blade bit into his flesh. He collapsed screaming, clutching at the bloody ruin of his thigh.

Scott leapt into the air, jumping over the blade as it swung for his legs. Landing on his feet, he slashed his dagger and Tavington lurched back with a moan.

Lyra screamed. The fight was happening so fast and the men were little more than a blur of motion, she could barely follow their movements. But she saw Dan Scott strike at William and she clutched at the wall behind her, fearing she might faint. His Redcoat sported several deep slashes, the rips oozing blood.

William's calm expression shifted to bloodlust. Still crouching, he reached out and snatched up a fallen dagger. His saber lashed out with lightening speed and cut savagely into Scott's thigh. The rebel bellowed and clutched at the deep gash. Tavington rushed in and thrust his dagger into Scott's stomach, twisting as he jerked it out. Scott's eyes bulged, blood spurted from his mouth and he dropped to the ground.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Danvers screamed with rage as Tavington turned to face him. "You killed Dan you _fucking_ bastard!" He rushed forward but Martin grabbed him and hauled him back.

"I said carefully, damn it!" Martin bellowed. "Control your damned anger!" Benjamin spat at Danvers before shoving him to the side.

_Or this fight is bloody lost!_ He thought to himself. Taking several measured steps away from Danvers, he tried to circle around Tavington's flank. William sneered at them both as they crouched low, ready to attack.

Then Rollins was suddenly on his feet again, but the wide eyed rebel edged away. Still clutching his bleeding wrist, he turned tail and ran.

"You god damned coward!" Danvers screamed after his fleeing comrade, stabbing his dagger into empty air. "Son of a bitch!"

Tavington sprang into action. He swung his saber and Danvers' curses cut off suddenly, the blade cutting a gash into his cheek. The rebel screamed and staggered, clutching at the ruin of his face. William thrust the dagger in Danver's chest then kicked the rebel to the ground before spinning to face Martin - his last opponent.

The two men stared at each other warily, panting heavily.

Billings groaned at their feet. Danvers, Scott and Colt were dead and Rollins had fled the scene. William's entire focus was now bent on Benjamin Martin.

His dagger gripped in his hand, the Ghost backed up a single step. His eyes on Tavington, he began to crouch, his hand reaching for a fallen dagger.

William did not wait. Rushing forward, his saber fell in a downward arc to slice off Benjamin's head. The Ghost rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. He bought up his dagger and thrust for William's chest.

Tavington blocked at the last moment, he pushed at Martin, trying to throw him off balance. His saber whistled through the air for Martin's head. The Ghost staggered back out of harms reach but Tavington swung again. The downward slice cut a gash along the front of Benjamin's thighs.

The Ghost stumbled to his knees with a curse. Trying to ignore the pain, he thrust his dagger up toward Tavington's stomach but William blocked the blow carelessly.

A dagger was no weapon to use against a saber, Benjamin decided. He pulled his pistol instead. Tavington's eyes widened and he reacted instantly. Before Benjamin could get a grip on the trigger, William savagely kicked the pistol from his grasp, then sliced his saber at Martin's dagger hand, forcing him to drop the knife.

He shoved Martin to the ground and planted his boot on the prone man's chest to pin him down. Wild eyed with battle fury, Tavington stared down at the Ghost coldly, the tip of the saber biting lightly into the Ghost's throat.

"And so we do a full circle," Tavington taunted softly, his cold hard gaze fixed on Benjamin's. Breathing raggedly, they both remembered their fight at Cowpens. Tavington ran his fingers along his own throat, as if feeling for the scar beneath his cravat. His face suddenly twisted with rage and Benjamin knew his life was about to end.

"You killed my sons!" He screamed his defiance, hoping to get his last words out before the Butcher ran him through. "Gabriel! And Thomas! He was just a boy!"

Tavington's jaw worked but he did not ease the sword point from Benjamin's throat, even by a hair.

"Just a boy!" Martin screamed again, all of his rage coming to the fore now in his final moments. "I would have sat this war out, would have stayed with my family to protect them as I could but you changed that! _You_ dragged me into this _fucking_ war! _You_ made me become a killer again! You should have left him - should never have killed Thomas! You killed my baby boy!"

Tavington knew it. He had admitted as much to Lyra not two months before, that everything came back to his killing of the boy. He had told Lyra then that he regretted it, it had been a thoughtless and arrogant act, nothing more. The memory of that fateful day flared anew. Tavington, sitting his mount ordering the freedmen to be taken, ordering the house and barns fired. Gabriel Martin, taken prisoner. And then Thomas Martin, a lad of no more than fifteen years, rushing forward and Tavington raising his pistol and siting it on the boys back -

Christ, how he wished he could change that memory, change the past altogether. If only he had not pulled the damned trigger. But he had and the bullet had slammed into the boys back, shunting him forward to die in his father's arms. Panting, he stared down at Benjamin now, the father. Tavington had shot this man's son before his very eyes.

"Damn and blast you, Ghost!" Tavington bellowed. He continued to scream his own rage and frustration down at his enemy. "Don't you think I know I shouldn't have killed the boy? I shouldn't have killed him!"

Martin's eyes bulged with shock, his gaze locked on Tavington's. William drew his sword away from Martin's neck and took a step back from the astonished Ghost.

"Now let's be clear on this," the Butcher continued in a calmer tone. "Gabriel - he chose to be a soldier and he died in the heat of battle. I don't regret killing him - I was fighting for my own life." He paused, tightened his lips before continuing softly. "But the other? Thomas was just a boy. An impetuous youth who did not deserve his fate. I should not have shot him."

"No," Benjamin said coldly. "You should not have." It was a struggle but he managed to rise to his knees, then to his feet. The pain along his thighs was phenomenal, he could feel blood dripping down his legs. Astonishingly, Tavington picked up the Ghost's dagger and offered it back to him.

Benjamin stared at the proffered dagger, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Take it," William spat. He gripped Benjamin's wrist and forced the dagger into his hand, hilt first. With a dramatic gesture William then threw his saber aside, it gave a loud clatter as it hit the ground. He placed his hands behind his back and presented Benjamin the breadth of his chest in clear invitation.

"You want me dead," he ground out coldly, "do it now. I will suffer no more threats to my family!"

"No!" Lyra screamed from her alcove. Her legs threatened to give way, she clutched the wall to stay upright. "Benjamin please, don't!"

Benjamin's attention was on Tavington, however. Their gazes locked, both wore equally hard expressions. For an instant, Benjamin seriously considered the Colonel's offer. His grip tightened on the dagger, he was poised and ready.

The instant passed and the Ghost slowly and very deliberately slid the dagger into the sheath at his side.

"I'll not kill you in cold blood," he muttered. "I never wanted this god damned fight tonight in the first place."

"Then what the Devil did you come here for?" Tavington growled, his tension easing somewhat. He'd felt certain his life had been about to end.

"To keep these other fools out of trouble," Benjamin shrugged. "This was Danvers idea, he was desperate for your blood and I knew he would come with or without me. I had hoped to reason with him, pure folly in itself."

"So what happens now?" Lyra whispered. Tavington had not heard her come forward but she was suddenly at his side and he put his arm around her. Her hands moved over his chest and he saw tears in her eyes. She gasped when her silk gloved hands came away covered with blood from his many gashes. With a whimper, she put her arms around his waist as though he needed her support to stand. Come to think of it, he thought he probably might need her assistance at that. The pain of his cuts was just now beginning to blaze, he swallowed hard and tried to focus on Martin.

"Nothing. Your family is safe from me," Benjamin said in answer to Lyra's question. He took a step back, his hands wide in an unthreatening gesture.

"Leave now then," Tavington said coldly. "Take him with you." He jutted his chin, indicating Billings, still on his knees.

Benjamin arched an eyebrow, weaving unsteadily on his injured legs. "You're not going to take us into custody? You could do so easily, now."

"No. But if you are caught by my men, I'll do nothing to assist you. If you win free of Charles Town, I'll meet you on the battlefield."

Lyra whimpered again and tightened her hold on his waist.

"But... I thought it was settled now!" She whispered, eyeing them both in askance. "Isn't it settled between you?"

"Battle is battle, Lyra," Benjamin answered for William as he started to edge back away from them slowly. Keeping his eyes on Tavington in case of treachery, he grabbed Billings by the shoulders and helped him to his feet. "Who knows how it will play out? I will not seek you out this time, though, Butcher. No more vendettas, no more duels."

"Are any more rebels as rabid for my blood as these ones were?" He curled his lip with disgust as he gazed down at the fallen men.

"There's plenty more _Patriots_ that hate you," Benjamin corrected, emphasizing 'Patriot'. "But no - they will save it for the battlefield. Your family is safe."

"As is yours," Tavington offered icily.

"Glad to hear it," Benjamin retorted just as icily. "Two sons lost to you is more than enough."

"Gabriel chose to be a soldier, he chose his fate," Tavington grated out.

"Be that as it may, your actions at Pembroke drove him to madness. None of it would've happened if you hadn't murdered Thomas, and you bloody well know it!" Benjamin locked eyes with Tavington for several tense filled moments, and when Tavington offered no reply, he turned to leave.

William watched them limp away. If they ever saw each other again, it would be on the field of battle or under parlay. When Benjamin was a few yards along the street, Tavington swallowed his pride and said the words he had never expected to say.

"For what it's worth," he called. "I am sorry."

Benjamin froze. He stopped dead, shocked to the core. Tavington screaming that he had been wrong, that he shouldn't have killed Thomas was one thing, but an actual apology? He glanced back at the Butcher, their gazes locked once more.

"It is not something that can be forgiven," the Ghost's tone was ice. "The loss of a child." He stared at Tavington, intently waiting on his next words.

"So I've come to realise," Tavington replied as he reached between himself and Lyra to stroke her expanding stomach. "I well understand now, the love a father can bear his child. To lose one as you did... No, not so easily forgiven, but I am sorry, all the same."

Martin continued to stare at Tavington, his intent expression now thoughtful. He nodded once, curtly.

"Learn from your mistakes, Tavington," he said simply and he began to limp forward again.

"Thank you!" Lyra called as she clutched at Tavington. Martin turned back, he saw her tears shining bright on her cheeks. "For not killing him."

"As I said, this vendetta is ended." Benjamin muttered. "I still think you have lousy taste in men, Lyra. You could have done far better than him."

"No, I couldn't," Lyra whispered as she gazed up at her husband. Benjamin did not hear her, however. He and Billings had continued to stumble on, disappearing into a side street. "I have the best of men."

Tavington smiled down at her, finally allowing himself to show weakness. His knees crumpled beneath him, his hold on Lyra almost pulled her down with him.

"William!" She gasped frantically, her green eyes filled with terror.

Just then, they heard the shouts of Redcoats who had finally been alerted to the fighting. They raced toward Tavington and by the light of their firebrands, they stared with astonishment at the three bloodied bodies laying on the ground.

"Sir!" An Officer darted to Tavington's side. "Can you stand?"

"With help," Tavington ground out and the Officer helped him back to his feet.

"Lean on me, Sir," the Officer lifted Tavington's arm and draped it over his shoulders, then wrapped his own arm around the Colonel's back. "Where are you wounded?"

"Oh, he's cut everywhere," Lyra wailed, the events of the evening finally proving too much for her. She burst into tears and Tavington pulled her forward to his other side.

"Fetch a litter!" The Officer yelled to his other men. "We need to get Colonel Tavington to the hospital!"

::::::::::

_A/N - Thanks Bain! For revising the chapter, for helping me with the flow of the fight, for the help with the dialogue, for revising the chapter again! You're awesome!_

_Kimmy - Well, Charlotte is not definitely going back to Ben - she just wants to be with the kids again for now but I'll admit she is contemplating a possible future with him. I agree though, poor Wilkins... Hmm, you've given me an idea there, having the women captured! LOL! Just kidding... Huh - your comment about Tavington made me laugh - that he's more or less back to his old self - he's just gotten sliced up again in this chapter! Back to bed for Tavi... And no - you're right, Benjamin wouldn't have let the other's have a go at Lyra if the fight had ended with Tavington's death. Hell - who am I kidding? As if I'd **ever** kill Tavington off. Bahaha! The very idea! Oh, and yes! Bain is an awesome writer! I've learned so much from her! :-)_


	72. Chapter 72 - Reunion

**Chapter 72 - Reunion**

Tavington was taken immediately to the hospital where he was dosed with laudanum before the doctors set to work patching him up. For Lyra, it was Cowpens all over again. Just as she did back in camp when William returned with his stomach wound, she waited anxiously in the corner. Her husband lay prone on the gurney, surrounded by corpsmen.

"He's going to be fine, Mrs. Tavington," a surgeon assured her when he glanced up and saw her distress. "There's only one deep gash, the others are all surface wounds only. They will all need to be stitched however."

"And the deep one?" Lyra's voice quavered when she spoke. "Is it... life threatening?"

"No. Nothing vital was pierced. He will be in pain and will need plenty of bed rest but I assure you, Colonel Tavington will be fine. Will you tell us what happened while we work?"

Another surgeon glanced up and nodded encouragement, curiosity getting the better of all of them. Lyra began to describe the fight with as much detail as she could, finding it helped to calm her considerably.

"... and he moved so fast, he was just a blur!" She finished. "I don't even remember seeing him get most of these wounds. I remember one - the one on his shoulder, but that's it."

The corpsman exchanged awed glances.

"Bloody tough old bastard," one of them muttered. His tone became instantly contrite. "Forgive me, Mrs. Tavington."

"No, it's fine - he _is_ a bloody tough old bastard!" She said proudly. "I've never seen anything like it - he was so calm and fast at the same time," her eyes were wide as wonderment. "Six to one! Have you ever heard of such?"

"Not I," one of the doctors admitted and the others nodded agreement. "And the Ghost? He wasn't one of the dead they picked up in that alley."

"Ah..." Lyra hesitated. Tavington had let Benjamin Martin walk away from the fight, he had not taken him into custody. Fearing it would be considered treason, Lyra answered evasively. "Martin is a tough old bastard too, he got away."

"Pity that. Would've made an excellent hostage," said one corpsman.

"Been a thorn in our side, that one. He'd have had to walk the gallows," said another.

Lyra held her silence, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation away from Benjamin. She caught sight of William's Redcoat draped over the back of a chair and she picked it up to fold it properly.

"Oh, dear Lord," she said, seeing all the clean slices in the wool. The jacket felt crisp with dried blood. Lyra poked her finger through one of the cuts. Then, incredibly, she began to laugh - a rich release of tension. She dabbed at her eyes with a hanky and saw the corpsman gazing at her with concern.

"Oh, it's just something he said before the fight," she explained in a mirth filled voice. "They all surrounded him and they had their daggers out, ready to fight. But William was so composed! You should've seen their faces when he started taunting them. He said_ 'Be careful of the uniform, my wife hates to sew'._ "

After an incredulous silence the men began to laugh and Lyra knew those words would be repeated throughout the ranks of the British army before nightfall. The entire town would know that her husband had risked his life to protect his family. He would be celebrated, he would be the toast of Charles Town. For his bravery, his nerve and his fearlessness.

_He deserves it too,_ Lyra thought as she gazed at her husband with an expression akin to worship.

::::::::::

Two days later, Tavington was finally pronounced well enough to leave the infirmary. His chest and thigh were covered with bandages, but he was itching to be out of hospital, to be home with his wife.

Lyra had not left his side for the two days. He had laid back on the cot against the pillows she piled beneath his head, and watched her as she doted on him. With a hint of a smile quirking his lips, he basked in her praise and attention.

"Another blanket, honey? How about a cup of tea? Oh, my poor dear, you must be bored!"

_Hmm, this was how it should be, _William had smiled to himself. His wife doting and fussing over him. All this time, all he'd had to do was get himself stabbed a few times. Should have done it weeks ago! He stifled a laugh.

"I know!" Lyra had announced. "I'll read to you!"

"Fanny Hill," he'd barked at that point, cringing at the idea of being forced to listen to that horrid 'Princesse de Cleve' story she loved so much. Lyra had blushed but she'd sat faithfully by his bed reading from the scandalous book - setting it aside and hiding the cover with embarrassment each time a visitor arrived. There had been a stream of those - Officers coming to wish him well and to hear of the fight. He faithfully described the combat over and over again, Lyra enthusiastically adding in the parts he forgot to mention.

Nevertheless, the doctors finally pronounced him well enough to continue his convalescence at home and Arcam had bought William and Lyra home in the carriage. He was under orders to rest, to do nothing too strenuous. Which was just as well, for climbing the stairs to the nursery had proven quite taxing on the wounds on his thigh and the deeper one on his side. Still, he was desperate to see Edward, who was sleeping soundly in his small cot. He touched his son's face gently and then left him to Miss Henderson's care.

Lyra had accompanied him of course, the two walked arm in arm through the corridors. He tensed when she stopped at Bordon's room, surely after all that had happened she would not continue to sleep apart from him! But then he noticed the door was ajar, a flurry of movement within - the servants packing Lyra's belongings. He smiled warmly with understanding - she was moving back to their chamber.

She led the way to the parlor and closed the door behind them, a clear sign that they were not to be disturbed. Tavington sat on a chaise with a heavy sigh.

"Are you in pain, honey?" Lyra stood over him, her expression concerned.

"No, angel. Just pleased to be home."

"And the wound on your thigh - is it paining you?"

"Not terribly," he frowned, puzzled by her questions.

"Good," she smiled, then hiked up her skirts enough to straddle his lap. Tavington drew in a sharp breath. His eyes became hooded as he placed his hands on her waist. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and smiled down at him. "Welcome home, my white knight," she murmured, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

"White knight?" He laughed, he pulled her hands from his shoulders and lifted her fingers to his lips. "Does that mean," he asked as he gave each fingertip a gentle kiss. "That you will be returning to our chamber?"

Lyra sighed and she half closed her eyes. "Unless you wish to move with me to Bordon's chamber."

"No, darling," his lips moved to her open palm. She swallowed as she watched his progress. "Our chamber has more sun."

"Hmm," she shivered as his lips drifted to the inside of her wrist. His eyes met hers and his breath caught. She was giving him that _look_ again, one he had caught frequently over the last two days. An expression of worship and love. Only this time, it was desirous also. She leaned down and brushed her lips to his cheek. She sighed as she nuzzled him, her lips drifting along his jaw, then to his lips. "Oh, William," she murmured and burrowed her face into his neck, near to tears. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too," he said huskily, lifting her face back up to his. He wiped her tears with his thumb. "I can not describe what it means to me, to have you back."

"I'm sorry I stayed away for so long," she hung her head and swallowed. He tilted her chin back up and leaned in to kiss her neck.

"I understood," he whispered, his breath warm on her skin. His hands moving to her waist again, he held her there and she fell limp against him. His mouth left her neck, drifting along her jaw to her lips. She shivered, parting her lips for him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth gently.

"Oh," she breathed, her fingers clutched at his shoulders as they kissed, she pressed her light frame against his hard chest.

Tavington gently raked his fingers up her arms to her shoulders, along her neck. Lyra swooned as her senses were assaulted, the feel of his warm lips on hers, his fingers stroking her nape gently, his hard erection between her legs.

"Bliss," she murmured against his lips.

"Indeed," he whispered his agreement. His fingertips raked back down her shoulders, over her arms to her waist. He began to gather up her skirts into his hands, pushing them high around her hips. His fingers now snaked down the outside of her thighs, then trailed lightly along the inside. Lyra's breath caught to feel his fingers at her crotch.

"William, please... Oh, honey..."

"Yes, my darling?" He smiled, teasing her. She was already wet, needing him. His fingers circled her quim and she sighed, softly rocking against him. Her womanhood swelled beneath his massaging fingers and Lyra gasped, her breathing ragged. He slipped one finger down, circled her entrance and Lyra tightened her hold on his neck. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. Tavington swallowed, Lyra's rocking on his fingers caused her bottom to brush along his erection. He slid in a second finger, easing it in and out of her wetness.

"More, darling?" He whispered huskily. She nodded wordlessly and reached between them to work at his breeches. He lifted his backside up and she pulled his pants down enough to free his thick manhood.

"So much more," she moaned and began stroking him gently as his fingers moved in and out of her. "Oh, William..." She closed her eyes. He leaned up to her, kissing her lips again.

After several sweet minutes of torturing one another's flesh, Tavington moved is fingers from beneath her skirt and slid his arms around her back, guiding her forward gently. She tilted her pelvis just so, and William heaved his hard erection inside of her. He sighed heavily and held her there, letting the sensations wash over him.

Lyra gasped as he filled her. She reached past him to clutch the back of the lounger behind his head. Now with something to hang onto, Lyra began to lift and lower herself on William's length. He swallowed and as they began to kiss again, he glided his fingers beneath her skirts to stroke her swollen womanhood. Lyra moaned against his lips as Tavington thrust into her and fingered her engorged quim. Still gripping the back of the lounger with one hand, she snaked her other hand around the back of his head, her fingers clutching his hair as they kissed.

His lips parted, almost slack beneath hers as the pleasure built to exquisite heights. Remembering himself, he kissed her clumsily as they strove for that sweet release. She hung onto his neck with a tight grip and surged above him, his fingers on her waist tightened and guided her to go faster, harder, frenzied.

"Agh!" With a low growl Tavington climaxed. Lyra let out an almost agonized moan, her head dropped back as pleasure flooded through her body. She collapsed against him, panting, both struggling to recover. With a satisfied smile, Lyra burrowed her face in the nook of Tavington's neck again.

"Hmmm," she sighed. "That was..."

"Hmmm," he agreed when she trailed off. There were no words to describe it.

Their reunion was complete.

:::::::::::

"This is bliss," Tavington murmured against the shell of Lyra's ear.

William had been home for almost a week now and despite his wounds, the two spent much of their time in their chamber, partaking of their pleasures.

"I know," Lyra smiled and sighed, snuggling in closer to William's warmth. "You were so surly when you were wounded at Cowpens, but I don't believe I have heard a single complaint from you once this time!"

"Hmm," Tavington chuckled. "That, my angel, is because my forced convalescence gives me more time to spend with you. And, my little one, I am cherishing _every_ moment."

"Oh, you are an old softy," she smiled and brushed a kiss along his lips.

"So you've accused me before," he smiled back. "But only with you."

"And Edward," she teased. "And the baby when she comes."

"Hmm," he reached down between them to lay a hand on her stomach, a thing he did often now she was sharing his bed again. "Oh, he's awake," he murmured as he felt the baby move beneath his hand.

"Yes, you woke him up," Lyra quipped.

"Your fault. 'Harder William! Harder!'" he mimicked in a high, sing song voice. "No wonder the poor little tyke woke up."

"I do not sound like that!" Lyra giggled. "You're cruel to tease me, I can't help what I say when we make love. You bring out the worst in me."

"No, I bring out the _best_ in you," he smirked. "As I was saying, little one, I am quite content to wile away my time, right here convalescing, for as soon as these wounds are healed enough I will have to resume my administration duties at the Assembly Hall."

Tavington was on the mend, no signs of infection in his wounds. Already, barely a week after the rebel attack, Rawdon's under Officers were clamoring for Tavington's attention, hoping he would return soon to his duties and assume command as Rawdon's deputy adjutant.

"Perhaps I need to get myself stabbed again," he quipped. "It seems that is the only time I get to spend with you."

"Don't you dare!" Lyra laughed. "Can't you tell Rawdon that your wounds are far more serious than they are? I don't want you to return just yet."

"They _are_ serious, my love," William replied. "Rawdon has made it clear that I am not to resume full duties for at least another week. I will do some administration work, just a few hours here and there from my office, but for the most part my days are still yours."

"And your nights," she smiled against his lips.

"_Especially_ my nights," William smiled back and kissed her gently.

The following week past far too quickly, Tavington was back on his feet before he knew it. As he had suspected, he began working for several hours here and there, mostly from his office where he could retire easily if he needed to. Mostly he sat at his desk and read through missives and reports, staying in constant communication with Sir Francis Rawdon.

Eventually he began working from the Assembly Hall, spending increasingly longer periods in council with Rawdon's aide de camps. The battles and skirmishes with Burwell continued, Rawdon was still based in Moncks Corner with the British Legion, directing the war from there.

As Spring progressed, so too did Lyra's pregnancy. She grew larger by the week and both of them knew she must be close to giving birth. It was during a particularly long council session on a fine and sunny day when Arcam was ushered into the large airy chamber.

Tavington knew at once what it meant.

"You must come quick, Sir. Mrs. Tavington has need of you."

Tavington was already on his feet and striding for the door, fear gripping his stomach. So many women died in childbed, as many as men dying in battle. A birth could be proceeding perfectly fine and then...

He did not remember the trip home, all he could recall was entering his chamber and seeing Lyra standing hunched over the window sill.

"Oh, William," she wailed, he could hear the fear in her voice. "The midwife says you must not stay but I can't do this alone. I can't do it without you! ! I can't -" She gripped her stomach and her face twisted with pain as a contraction took her. Breathing heavily, she sighed when the pain faded. "Oh, honey, don't leave me!"

"I won't," he shot a dark look at the midwife as he stood at Lyra's side. Birthing was the province of women, men hardly ever attended - except for doctor's.

But a very, very long time ago, Tavington had promised Lyra he would remain with her during her painful mensies rather than seek another chamber. It was when she had caught him in bed with one of the Collins' families maids. And he had kept that promise, staying with her every month when her pains began. Surely this could be no different?

"I'll stay, my little one," he promised her now. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, William," Lyra wept with relief and clutched at his arms as another convulsion wracked her small body.

"Should she be in so much pain?" He yelled frantically at the midwife, who rolled her eyes with irritation.

"This is why we ask the men to _leave_, Sir," she snapped. "Yes, she should be in this much pain. Bearing a child is no easy thing. If you insist on staying then you must not get in my way."

"I will not," he vowed. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"Very well," she answered crisply and began giving him commands like a General ordering his troops.

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	73. Chapter 73 - Newly Born

**Chapter 73 - Newly Born**

Many, many hours later, William sat back in a chair, holding his baby daughter in his arms. She was sleeping quietly, content and warm after her first feed - provided by Miss Claire Henderson. The poor wet nurse would be run ragged, William mused. She had her own daughter, Cynthia to feed as well as Edward. And now the little baby girl William held in his arms.

Not to mention the little boy who had been born not ten minutes later.

Twins.

It was a damned good thing that Sally had known of a wet nurse in need of employment! William had already sent for the woman, for there was no way possible that Claire would be able to keep four children nourished.

William shook his head, utterly astounded. Six months ago he had not dreamed of having children, it had never even entered his head. And then Edward had been left on his doorstep and now Lyra had birthed him twins! Three children in the space of six months!

And one of them his heir... Tavington sighed a bittersweet sigh. A legitimate son to carry on the family name and fortune. What every father dreamed of. But most of those father's weren't raising their '_natural_' children alongside their _legitimate_ children. How would Edward feel, being the first born son, but not the heir? Would he feel unloved? Jealous of his younger brother, the one who would inherit the family name and fortune?

He gazed over at his wife, sleeping peacefully in their bed, with their newborn son tucked beside her.

Lyra had said it didn't matter. Lyra had assured him that it was all down to how Edward was raised and how much love he received from his parents. Show no favoritism, she had said. All will be well, she had said.

_We shall see,_ Tavington thought now as he rose from his seat to place his sleeping daughter alongside her brother in the large bed.

Rosemary May and William David.

He gazed down at his new babies, the two looked so much alike with their shock of black hair little squished up faces. He would not be able to tell them apart, he knew. They were both so beautiful and looked so much like Edward when he was newly born.

He sighed tiredly as he made his way around the bed to climb in beside his wife.

_Sleep_... He thought blissfully as he pulled the covers up over himself and Lyra. Tavington was in desperate need of it, even if Lyra had done all the work to bring his babies into the world. He had been with her throughout the afternoon and night, following the orders of that horrid midwife - that woman could put any General to shame!

It was peaceful now, but it had been a much different scene in the room hours ago, when Lyra had clutched at his arm and cursed at him, her teeth bared as she pushed down to birth their daughter. She had said the most heinous things, another reason men were not supposed to stay with their wives during birth, the midwife had muttered. Understanding she was in pain, Tavington had let the words wash over him.

Besides, it certainly was _not_ entirely his fault she had become pregnant, she had been just as willing between the sheets as he had been!

_"You will never put that thing in me again, do you hear me?" She had screamed. "Never again!"_

Tavington had glanced a the midwife with mild embarrassment, but he laughed softly at the memory now. Six weeks, the midwife had said. Six weeks before they could have relations again. Despite her assertions that she would never allow him to bed her again, Tavington knew his wife would be chomping at the bit before the time was up.

" 'Never put it in me again'," Tavington muttered quietly. "Christ, _she'll_ be trying to mount me in _four_ weeks!" He chuckled and scooted closer to Lyra, placing his arm over her waist, he nestled his face into her neck and closed his eyes for a much needed sleep.

:::::::

Not two months later, at the beginning of Summer, Emily Simms went into labor. Joseph happened to be in Charles Town at the time, for which he thanked the sweet Lord above. Rawdon had given several of his men furlough to return to Charles town to conduct varying personal business.

James Wilkins for one. He managed to push through his divorce, ending his marriage to Charlotte. To avoid being the object of gossip for too long, he had a rushed courtship with Alice Robinson, Emily's younger sister. They had known one another a long time, and made a handsome couple. The two were to marry, Richard and Joseph were to stand with James at the wedding, while Lyra and Emily were to stand with Alice.

The sudden arrival of Joseph and Emily's baby put paid to James and Alice's plans. The Simms were graced with a son, a boy they named Nathan. Not three hours after the birth, Emily and Lyra happily began making plans to marry the newborn boy to Lyra's daughter, Rosemary May (who was, for the most part, simply called May). The two were second cousins, close in age, and would make the perfect match!

A week later, James was finally able to attend the business he had come to Charles Town for - to marry his bride. Emily was able to stand for her sister during the wedding, with Lyra at her side. Afterward, the celebrations went for long into the night.

It was a significant joining of two prominent families, but Lyra noticed with pleasure that it appeared to be more than that. The couple seemed happy with one another, quite content. Alice had blushed crimson when it was time for the revelry to end, understanding she was about to bed her husband and become a woman. Lyra and Emily whispered advice in hushed tones, assured the nervous girl of how wonderful it would be.

Over tea the following day, Alice had blushed even more as she described her first night in her marriage bed. Amidst giggles, the three girls spoke of the pleasure they felt and Alice declared she had quite fallen in love with her husband for drawing such sensations from her unwitting body.

Before long however, the men - including Tavington - were needed along the Santee again, as war escalated and raged on. Summer gave way to Autumn and with the onset of Winter, Rawdon reluctantly conceded that there was no hope. The Southern campaign in the colonies was drawing it's last breath.

:::::::::

The horse stamped its hooves and snorted, tossing its head, sensing his riders nerves. Tavington barely noticed, he sat stiff with fury and tension as he glared at the approaching riders. Joseph, Richard and Robert were to either side of him, along with another five Green Dragoons. William waited tensely, barely noticing the chill early morning air.

The riders were closer now, almost within speaking distance. Tavington's face was cold and hard, his grip on the reins tightened. So many battles since Cowpens, not just in South Carolina but in Virginia, even out on the open seas. So many battles, so many lives lost and all for naught. Though he knew His Majesty King George would keep fighting, the war was lost.

Almost an entire year they had spent trying to hold South Carolina, as Burwell battled for every inch of land. At first, Burwell had been unsuccessful but in the last few months, ever since the loss of Camden, the Patriot General had been reclaiming territory. Rawdon had abandoned garrisons and townships. He and Tavington had assisted Loyalists to flee the outlying areas for the safety of Charles Town, as the Santee and other territories were taken back by the Patriot armies.

Now almost the entire British force in South Carolina, and it's Loyalist supporters, were all penned in the Charles Town. The town was filled to bursting, but there was no where for them to go as it was completely surrounded by the Patriot army. There would be no relief, Tavington expected no reinforcement. Cornwallis had surrendered Yorktown long since and New York was lost as well - Washington now occupied the city.

_Oh God, it's all over, _Tavington thought to himself, finally accepting what Rawdon had been trying to convince him for months now. _The war is over, and all is lost. We will not live the rest of our lives in Charles Town. I will not receive Ohio either. How the Devil will I break it to Lyra?_

The end of everything - the end of the life they had planned together. He kept the emotions from showing on his face, but inside he was raw with fury and he could not name what else.

Frustration, even nostalgia. He had become caught up with Lyra's dream of raising their children in her family home. But now they would have to abandon it. The twins were not even a year old - far too young to remember the manor their mother loved so much!

His face was hard as stone when the riders finally drew rein before him and his small detachment.

"Well met, Tavington," Benjamin greeted. His polite tone belied the hatred they bore one another.

They had met many times on the field of battle since their uneasy truce, and although they had crossed swords during those skirmishes, nevertheless, they were Gentlemen and never failed to conduct themselves are such.

Benjamin was flanked by an equal number of rebels to match Tavington's Dragoons. This was parlay, after all, the niceties must be met.

"Nice horse," Martin nodded at the strong black charger.

"A birthday gift from my wife," Tavington replied.

"Hmm. Good to know. I'll ensure I'm careful of him when next we meet," Martin smirked. "I wouldn't want to disrespect Lyra by hurting this one too."

A month previous, during a skirmish, Martin had shot William's brown mare from under him. Tavington rolled his eyes but his face remained stone.

"That's two of my horses you've killed," William replied in his quiet drawl.

"So it is!" Benjamin nodded agreement, both men thinking of Cowpens, when Benjamin had unseated Tavington and killed his horse with the sharp end of a flag pole.

Richard and Joseph watched the scene tensely but remained silent.

"How is Lyra, by the way?" Benjamin asked. "I hear congratulations are in order, for the birth of twins?"

"Mrs. Tavington," Joseph correctly hotly before Tavington could open his mouth. "You will not speak of my cousin with such familiarity again, Ghost."

Benjamin's lips twitched with a smile.

"Tense lot, aren't you?" He taunted. "Well, I can't say as I blame you." He held Tavington's stern gaze, enjoying the moment. Then he drew himself up, assumed a more serious mien. "Shall we get down to business then?"

"Yes, _please_," Tavington grated.

"Very well. General Burwell wishes to state his terms for the evacuation. He is a Gentleman and as such will give the British army one full day to withdraw before we move into the township."

Tavington raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised by this generosity. "And will we be followed? Not all the evacuees will be able to take ship."

"The civilians, not at all. If pursuit if given it will be aimed at the Loyalist militia. They will be allowed one full night and another full day to get as far away as possible."

"Generous of him," Tavington acknowledged.

"As I said, General Burwell is a Gentleman. We shall keep to our positions in the redoubts around the town. All of our artillery, including our fifteen cannons, will be primed and sited for battle. However, not a single shot will be fired as the British and Loyalists withdraw."

"Hmm, that will make for a nervous leave taking," Joseph muttered.

"Rest assured, Captain," Benjamin addressed Joseph directly. "As long as the British make no threatening moves, they will be allowed to leave unmolested."

"It will take time for me to return to Rawdon and begin making the preparations," Tavington said now. "When does this 'full day' begin?"

"Tomorrow morning, December 14," Benjamin replied.

"That does not give us much time," William muttered.

Benjamin shrugged, uncaring. The Patriot army had run out of food and were in desperate need to enter the township. Not that he would admit as much to Tavington - he would show no weakness.

"You have a full day to prepare." Benjamin said.

"Well then I shall take my leave of you," the Colonel was already turning his horse. "I will tarry here no longer."

"Let it be known," Benjamin raised his voice and Tavington turned back to him. "By standing order of General Washington; that any Loyalist remaining in Charles Town will be subjected to trial. Any who are found guilty of aiding the British throughout this war _will_ suffer prosecution. They may have their properties seized or, depending on their level of involvement, they may be executed for their treason."

Tavington's hands twitched on his reins upon hearing the word 'treason' from this man. _They_ were the treasonous ones, these rebels who defied the Crown! Benjamin's words rung in his ears, vaguely reminiscent of Tavington's own imperious declarations, made at Martin's farm so long ago.

_"Let it be known, by standing order of His Majesty King George..." _

The British had been winning the war then, but it had all gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

Ever since Cowpens.

Tavington's jaw worked as he and the Ghost glared at one another.

"Are you quite finished?" Tavington finally ground out.

"It was fair warning, Butcher." Benjamin said coldly.

"Indeed," Tavington replied crisply. He whirled his charger and spurred it into a gallop, his men falling in behind him.

::::

He rode directly for the Assembly Hall where he discussed the evacuation with Rawdon and Rawdon's aide de camps. Most of the preparations to evacuate the township were already in place, the British having fair warning that they were about to lose their control of the area. With the loss of Camden and more recently - Moncks Corner, the abandonment of Charles Town had been all but inevitable.

Rawdon allocated his Captains to oversee the removal of various troops and civilians. Some excess of four thousand black Loyalists, freed slaves all, would flee the town aboard ship for they faced a dire future if caught by their former masters. For most of them, their destination would be Barbados. There was plenty of room aboard the ships for the aristocratic Loyalists, both civilians and militia, who would be escorted to Nova Scotia and England.

Joseph sat to Tavington's left during the council, James and Richard sat to his right.

"Where do we go?" Joseph whispered to Tavington while Rawdon was busy speaking with his Captains regarding the need for calm - he did not want the people to panic and riot. "England?"

Tavington held his silence for the longest time.

_England..._ He mused. After his actions at Pembroke, he would not be welcomed by his peerage in England. He would be shunned, he had no doubt of it. What sort of life would Lyra and his children suffer, ostracized where ever they went? They would have to live in some small cottage far from society.

No, not England. He shook his head in the negative.

Joseph's arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Then where?"

Hmm, where... He thought through the many options, none of them ideal. Until he met and married Lyra, his plan had been to move to Ohio, which would have been granted to him upon capture of the Ghost. And although Cornwallis had assured him he had met his part of their bargain, Tavington was well aware that Ohio was no longer Cornwallis' to award to _anyone_.

There were still other colonies under British rule. Plenty of places they could flee to, and start anew. He and Lyra had quite a fortune in investments abroad and in the Bank of England itself. Though they no longer owned property, that wealth was still theirs, in excess of eighty thousand pounds. Money was no problem, he just had to decide on a destination.

Something Rawdon was saying drew his attention.

"...In Nova Scotia. The ships will make good time, landing there in two weeks. Many of the Loyalists here will wish to settle there - especially those who have been bought in recently from Fort Ninety Six. Tavington, I will, of course, ensure your own family is given a place aboard the man o' war '_The Kings Blessing'_, which will set sail directly for England."

Tavington pondered the option, for while they could not settle in England, they would have to return there for a short while, to get their affairs and accounts in order. But he and Lyra would have to leave England shortly afterwards, they could not reside there.

"No," Tavington said, making his decision for himself and his family - all of them. "Mine and Captain Simms families will set sail for Nova Scotia. Wilkins?" He turned to ask James.

"Nova Scotia?" Joseph, James and Richard all said in unison. After a few moments, James nodded in agreement. He had taken a part in Pembroke, after all. He, Alice and the baby his wife was carrying would suffer the same as William and Lyra - they would be ostracized also. "Yes... That could work."

"Hmm, I've always wanted to see the northern Colonies," Richard mused and Joseph nodded thoughtfully, pleased to have a destination decided upon. "I've heard Nova Scotia is lovely this time of the year."

"Lovely?" Joseph barked a laugh. "It'll be knee deep in snow!"

"Hmm, as my brother said..." James quipped. "Just lovely."

:::

Hi Lisette - Thanks for reviewing - I'm glad you liked it!

Hi Kimmy - Thanks! I love that you are so eager for the each chapter! I'm glad you liked the battle scene! Hmm, a scared up Tavington - I'd so love to see him without his shirt on a few years after taking all these wounds! Sexy!


	74. Chapter 74 - Evacuating Charles Town

_A/N -_ _Wow, this is the last chapter! I have done an epilogue, but... _

_This is it!_

_:-(_

_The epilogue is quite long - over six thousand words! It's mostly complete and will hopefully be posted up tomorrow._

_Wow - I can't believe it's come to an end!_

_**sigh**_

**:::::**

**Chapter 74 - Evacuating Charles Town**

Tavington strode through his manor in search of Lyra. Suspecting she was in the parlor he trotted up the stairs, stopping short at the door to take in the scene.

Edward was sitting on the thick carpet mouthing a wooden toy - the boys teeth were paining him again. All three of his children were walking, May and William had taken their first steps at only ten months old. May was tottering over to the unsuspecting Edward, no doubt to pull the poor boys hair.

Will, May's twin, tottered on uncertain feet then fell to his rump. He gazed up at his mother with a wide smile, waiting for Lyra to make a fuss over him.

Before Lyra could feign her usual "Oh, my poor dear baby boy, you've gone and hurt yourself!" and pick the little tyke up to tickle his belly, William strode into the parlor.

"William!" Lyra turned from the smaller William, and threw herself into her husband's arms. "You're back early."

"I know," he said thickly. He stared down into his wife's eyes, hating the tidings he had to give her. Though Rawdon had known he would have to surrender Charles Town, Tavington had so far kept the news from his wife, hoping in vein that reinforcements would arrive to relieve them. "Lyra we have to go."

"You're riding out again already?" Lyra's smile faded and she drew away from him though she remained in the circle of his arms. "William, you just got back! You can't leave yet, you -"

"Angel, _we_ have to go. We _all_ do," he drew a ragged breath and steeled himself. "Darling, Charles Town has fallen, we must evacuate."

Lyra stared at him with shock, then denial.

"No..." She said, clearly not understanding his words.

"Yes, we have to leave." He said, ignoring the children now clambering around his legs. They always surrounded him as soon as he came home, whether he had been gone an hour or for weeks. Normally he would sit on the thick carpet and stretch his legs out, allowing them climb all over him. Not today, however. There was simply no time. "Joseph is at the mansion by now, telling Emily and Rebecca the same news. He will go to his father and inform him as well."

"No..." Lyra shook her head, still denying his words. "We can't leave... This is our home!"

"It _was_. My darling, I am sorry. But Charles Town has fallen and Loyalists will be fleeing in their droves. We must go too. What we can not take aboard ship must be left behind."

"What?" Lyra gasped. "No, we have so many lovely things!" She glanced around the parlor, there were many priceless heirlooms, the walls were adorned with countless oil paintings.

"Necessities only," Tavington said firmly. "Medicines, clothes, foodstuffs - as many as can be crammed onto the carts and transported to the wharves. Blankets -"

"Well..." Lyra spoke as if in a dream. "What of the furniture and..."

"All must be left behind, all of it. We will need to pack quickly, for the Continentals have only promised us one day to withdraw."

"_William_," Lyra wailed. "What of Sally and Arcam! What of Eleanor! What of the children!"

"They will be fine, darling! Miss Henderson and her daughter, Sally and Arcam, Mrs. Bryant - they will all accompany us of course! We shall take any other servants who wish to remain in our employ."

"I... I don't understand how any of this is possible... How..."

"Come here," he led the way to a sofa and sat down beside his distraught wife. He continued in a calm tone. "The entire British Legion will assist in the evacuation. Loyalist families will find safe haven in Barbados, Nova Scotia, and England. Little one, it is all arranged, we shall set sail first thing in the morning, and we will begin a new life in Nova Scotia."

"Nova Scotia! But it's so far!" Lyra wailed and began to cry at once. "There's nothing for us there!" She said through her tears.

Tavington sighed and drew his wife into his arms, wishing there had been a gentler way to break the news to her. She was in the early stages of her second pregnancy and was just as emotional this time around as she had been with the twins. She clung to him and wept against his chest.

"There there, all will be well. I'll be with you the entire way, as will Joseph, Emily and your grandmother. Many of my Dragoons have decided to come with me, with their families also. James and Richard Wilkins are informing their family, as is Robert Wentworth. All of them have decided on Nova Scotia, so we'll all be together - just not _here_."

He rubbed her back comfortingly until her weeping subsided.

"We really must leave?" She asked forlornly, lifting her head from his chest to meet his gaze.

"Yes, we really must," he took on a forthright, no nonsense tone. "Lyra, this house is lost. You will never see it again."

"Oh, William," she bowed her head and sobbed.

"I'm sorry, I do not want to be so blunt with you but you must understand. The war is lost, Charles Town will be crawling with Patriots and we will have no welcome here. I'll probably be hung -"

"No, don't say that!" She whimpered.

"It's true. And you - darling, you are the _Butcher's_ wife. We must leave, little one, never to return."

He pulled her against him again and Lyra buried her face in the nook of his neck, her fingers grasped at the front of his Redcoat as she wept. Sally, who had come into the parlor and had heard most of the exchange, wiped a tear from her eyes and leaned down to pick up Edward, who was pulling on Lyra's bodice and saying "Mamma? Mamma?"

Eventually Lyra's weeping ceased and she drew away to dab at her red eyes and wipe her wet cheeks.

"So, that's it? It's all over?"

The words were very close to what he had been thinking himself. He nodded and sighed heavily.

"I'm afraid so," he said quietly.

"We have packing to do," Lyra said, though her voice was dazed as though she was in a dream.

Tavington nodded again. "That we do, my angel."

:::::::::

After a fitful night sleep, Tavington rose and dressed carefully in his Redcoat and breeches. He shaved and pulled his hair back perfectly in his queue then stamped his feet into his boots. Lyra, who had had as little sleep as her husband, dressed slowly - bleary eyed.

There was not much left to be done. For the entire day previous, the servants had been in a frenzy packing the families belongings and loading them carefully onto the carts. Those carts were to be driven to the docks, the contents to be loaded aboard ship. Tavington had decided they could take a few of their precious belongings, the oil portrait of Lyra's mother. Some valuable ornaments. The best dinner service. Nothing too big, however. The furniture still had to be left behind.

Eleanor had packed her belongings as well. Then she had sent for Arcam to have her cart driven over to Lyra's home, where she spent the night so she could be ready to leave with them the following morning. The entire household, including the servants who had no pressing duties, met for breakfast in the dining hall. Sitting or standing around the table, they ate mostly in a solemn silence. Except for the boisterous children of course, who were too young to understand.

Eventually, the family and their household were ready to leave. Lyra tried to hold back her tears as William led the way through their manor house to the courtyard. She climbed into the cart with Sally, Claire, Eleanor and the children. Arcam jumped up into the seat at the front of the carriage and when William mounted his big black charger, he gave the signal and the carriage and carts began to move. They left the courtyard and made their way around the property and onto Tradd St.

Lyra stared at the front of her house with longing as they began to pass it by, even sticking her head around the edge of the window to gaze at it as it faded from view. As soon as she could see it no longer, she gave way to her tears and with a sobbing gasp, she collapsed in Eleanor's arms.

"There, there," Eleanor whispered as she stroked Lyra's hair. "All will be well. As the Colonel said, we'll all be together still, and that's all that matters."

Claire had tears in her eyes, sympathetic toward her distraught mistress.

Sally was equally distraught. She had only been fifteen years old when she had been sold to the Mathan family, who had given her to Lyra before the girls seventh birthday. Despite being a slave at the time, the manor held many happy memories for her. It had been a haven also, for being a maid to a seven year old girl was far preferable to being sold to an old aristocrat with lewd intentions. If it had ever occurred to Mr. Alexander Mathan to bed the fifteen year old slave, Sally _never_ knew of it. She had only known safety in that old manor.

Even Eleanor had roots tied to the manor. As Lyra's governess, she had all but raised the girl in that house.

So much family history, and it was to be abandoned to it's fate, seized by rebels.

A gun was fired, somewhere in the distance, startling Lyra out of her misery. She glanced at Eleanor with fear, but the shot had sounded far off. When she looked out the window and caught sight of her husband, she was reassured to find he was not at all panicked.

Tavington was rock hard and filled with tension, but there was no fear.

She sighed heavily as she gazed at his handsome profile, finally accepting that despite the terrible turn of events, she still had her family and companions. She still had William. They could begin again in Nova Scotia.

_As for our manor,_ she tried to convince herself_, it was just a house in anyway. We can build another.._.

:::::::

As they made their way toward the docks, William was joined by Joseph Simms, who guided his horse alongside his ornate carriage which carried Emily, their son Nathan, Rebecca and Cole. Another carriage followed, holding the Robinson family, Emily's parents and sisters. Tavington spied Richard and James Wilkins further down the street, leading yet more carriages - the entire Wilkins family including James' wife, Alice.

A small convoy of carriages and carts was beginning to come together as they were joined by even more Dragoons and their families. He nodded at the Wilkins' as they fell in with him.

Tavington had managed to ensure that his immediate family and those of many of his Dragoons, would be aboard the same large_ man o' war_ sailing for Nova Scotia.

Further back down the line, Tavington spied Bradley and Katie's carriage and he fervently hoped their destination was _anywhere _but Nova Scotia.

The streets were filled with noise - organised mayhem, as many families made their slow way toward the docks.

There was a heavy Redcoat presence, a large portion of infantry and cavalry formed up a long defensive line to help maintain order and discourage panic and rioting. So far, the denizens escaping Charles Town seemed pacific enough, it was the remaining Patriots that might cause discord.

A pistol had been fired a short while earlier, the Patriot army warning the British of their approach. Tavington cleared the residential houses and led the way toward the docks.

And there they were - rank upon rank of Continental troops, in military formation ready for decisive action. As Benjamin had warned, their cannons were in range. The first line of troops were kneeling with their muskets prepped and aimed, ready to fire if the command was given. The line of troops standing behind them were ready to fire the second volley. The light cavalry was in position, ready to charge.

Of course the British still held the ramparts. It's force primed and ready for defense. They had formed up the same military formation of infantry and cavalry, long lines facing the Continentals. A narrow avenue fifty yards wide separated the two forces and the convoy, filled with civilians, would have to travel right down the middle to reach the docks. If either side opened fire, the citizens would be caught in the middle of the fray.

It was harrowing to say the least, even for the hardened Colonel. His wife and children were in one of the carriages that would have to make its way down that volatile passageway!

"Lyra," he leaned into the window, unable to hide his tension. "Close these curtains and keep down."

Lyra paled. "You don't think -"

"No, darling," he said quickly. "I don't think anything will happen." And it won't make a hell of a lot of difference if his entire family was on the floor of the carriage in any case, if the Americans decided to fire a volley of cannons in their midst. He cursed himself for worrying her needlessly. "No, everything is fine - just keep the curtains closed. I don't want you to watch and worry. All will be well."

"Alright," she said dubiously and closed the curtains.

He could hear the women speaking quietly, and panicky, from within the carriage and again he cursed his foolishness. They had been quite calm before he had said anything!

"Jesus," Joseph said quietly at his side. "All it would take is for one of them to open fire..."

"They won't," Tavington asserted. "Not on civilians. There are children in these carriages and wagons."

"Nevertheless, shouldn't we pick up the pace?" James asked nervously.

"I wouldn't give them the pleasure," Tavington said imperiously. "Form two lines, Wilkins. Dragoons to either side, weapons primed and ready."

"Yes, Sir." James nodded at Wentworth, who rode back down the line, shouting the command.

Holding his head high, William maintained the same, easy pace as the carriages were driven to their positions. When they were ready, he touched his knees to his horses shoulders, a signal for the charger to perform for the watching Continentals. James sniggered at the horse began to prance and dance enough to put a parading show horse to shame. The charger clipped along, lifting his hooves high, tossed it's head carelessly and snorted through his nostrils seemingly in derision.

His performance had the desired affect. The tension drained from his men and they were laughing and smirking while they began the slow trek through the passageway.

Half way through, Tavington calmed his mount down to it's usual gait. A quick glance toward Lyra's carriage showed the curtains still drawn, and the crushing weight of fear for his loved ones returned ten fold. So far the enemy had made no move to fire their weapons, they did nothing more than hold their position. But if that changed, then _his own children_ would be caught in the crossfire.

Having the British army primed and ready to the left side of him was little comfort indeed.

A little further along the narrow divide he came across the familiar face of the Ghost. He was mounted, or course, and waiting patiently by a contingent of Patriot militiamen.

Of all the odds...

Tavington drew a sharp breath as he caught Benjamin Martin's cold eye. If battle were to erupt, it would be now, and the Patriot militia would be the instigators. He knew they would not, however. Neither Colonel offered so much as a nod to the other as he passed by. Tavington, though he seethed with fury and frustration, allowed none of it to show on his face. He held his head high as he passed his enemy, thankful that he would never see Martin again.

The Patriots had won, the war was over.

God help them all.

:::::::

Tavington strode through the narrow passageway in search of his cabin. Though the ship was still at dock, it rocked gently and he was constantly forced to adjust his gait to keep his balance. He squeezed past other passengers, some clutching the rail along the passageway, gripping it tight to keep their feet.

_It will only get worse once we set sail_, Tavington thought. He finally found his cabin but when he poked his head in, he found it empty. He shut the door and went on to the next cabin.

"Oh, sorry, Emily - I was looking for Lyra," he said when he opened the door to find a teary eyed Emily, sitting on her bunk and holding her son.

"She's in Eleanor's cabin, with the children," she replied tiredly.

"Thank you. Are you well? Do you want me to stay?"

"No, I'll be fine..." Emily shook her head. "Joseph will be back in a moment, he's just seeing Cole and Rebecca settled into their cabin. You see to Lyra, she needs you."

"Very well... If you're certain..."

Emily nodded and Tavington left her reluctantly. Mrs. Eleanor Bryant was to share a cabin with Miss Claire Henderson, where the two women would have the difficult task of caring for the children. Tavington suspected Lyra would be spending most of the next two weeks in that cabin also. He headed back the way he had come, to the cabin next door to his on the other side.

Sure enough, Lyra was laying May down beside Will on one of the bunks in the cramped cabin. Edward was sleeping soundly at the other end of the bunk.

"Do you want to go above deck and watch the ship set sail?" Tavington asked her. "They will be weighing anchor to leave shortly."

"Ah... Well..." Lyra began tiredly.

It had been a long morning, getting to the docks and traveling that harrowing passageway had been only the beginning. Lyra and her family had been some of the first to board ship, and they'd had to wait for hours as the other families had embarked, their carts unloaded and taken below decks along with horses and other livestock. The children could not be confined in the small cabins for they had quickly grown restless, crying and throwing tantrums. Lyra, Emily, Eleanor, Sally, Claire - all of them had had no choice but to stay above decks to help entertain the children until they eventually tired themselves enough to be put to bed. Chasing after five children had been exhausting to say the least.

"I'll watch them," Claire said now - her daughter had been one of the five above decks but was now sleeping peacefully on her bunk. "I don't think I'm going to be much of a sailor," she continued, looking decidedly green.

"No more than I," Lyra admitted. "Very well, Sally is next door with Arcam. You can send one of them if you need me."

"I will," Claire said as she lay alongside her daughter.

Lyra closed the door quietly behind her and followed her husband back through the passageways and up ladders, emerging above deck once more.

It was mid morning now. The docks were still lined with Loyalists waiting to board their ships. Even now the Patriot force held it's position. Lined up ready for action with the British forces lined up facing them, though the divide between them was empty now. Charles Town's evacuating Loyalists had either fled over land or were waiting at the docks. William had told her earlier that the artillery of every man o' war in the harbor was prepped and ready for battle. The cannons below decks were all sited on the enemy.

Many other families clustered on the deck, most of the women were weeping into their hankerchiefs. Sailors scurried about their duties, yelling to each other, running barefoot across the deck, preparing to set sail. Sea gulls circled and screeched above them. The smell of the salt water was strong.

"So tense," Lyra felt goosebumps pimple her arms as she gazed nervously at the enemy cannon which was sited on their ship. "What if they attack at the last minute?"

"They won't, darling," Tavinton assured her gently. Standing behind her, he wound his arms around her waist. She covered his hands with her own and leaned bodily back against him.

"What of them?" Lyra pointed with her chin toward the British force on shore.

"They will board last, most of them will be heading back to England. Never fear, the Patriots will allow them to leave in peace, as long as it is before dusk."

"But it's taking so long as it is - all those families waiting..."

"They will make it aboard their ships, never fear." He said confidently.

The ship gave a gentle lurch. To keep her balance, Lyra placed her hands on the rail in front of her. They both stepped forward, Tavington securing her between himself and the rail.

Some of the children standing on the docks began to wave at those aboard the departing ship. Lyra waved back hesitantly.

"This is it," she said softly. "Will we ever come back here again?"

"No, my angel," he said against her ear. "This is it - you are waving farewell for ever."

Tears seared her eyes, blurring the vision before her. She felt her husband's hold on her tighten.

"Our new baby will be born in Nova Scotia. Our children will know of nothing else - it will be there home. I _will_ make a home for you, my darling."

"I know you will," Lyra said as silent tears traced her cheeks. "It's just so... So..." She cut of sharply and bit her lip.

"I know - this is all you knew," A quick glance to either side of him showed many other husbands and father's trying to console their weeping wives and daughters. Tavington sighed heavily and turned his own distraught wife in his arms. "I don't think you should watch the departure after all, little one."

Lyra clutched to the front of William's Redcoat and buried her face against his chest, closing her eyes so she would not see her beloved home dwindle from view.

"I have some news that might cheer you, I was not going to tell you until we reached our new home." Tavington said as he held her against him with one hand, holding the rail with the other.

"What is it?" She asked without opening her eyes.

"I spoke to Rawdon this morning. This war is all but over, even if we do continue fighting here. It is finished and I have decided to withdraw from service."

Lyra stiffened, unable to believe her ears. "You can't mean..?" She gazed up at him, her green eyes filled with hope.

"I mean, my sweet angel, that I have retired. Not from the army altogether, but from the action here in the colonies. I will retain my rank and receive a salary, but for all intents and purposes, I am retired."

"Oh, William!" Lyra cried out, startling the nearby passengers. She reached up and threw her arms around his neck. Those passengers closest to them kept their eyes politely averted, none of them could find it within themselves to be scandalized by the unseemly display of affection as they watched the shore growing smaller the further they sailed from their home. Which was just as well, for Tavington kissed her deeply, right there on the deck.

When he came up for air, he bent his forehead to hers with a contented sigh, pleased to have been able to raise her spirits.

"I will still be a soldier, my love, but there will be no more campaigning for me, not here in the colonies," he assured her as they swayed with the movement of the ship. "Not unless I volunteer." He kissed the tip of her nose.

"But you won't volunteer, will you?" She smiled up at him and arched a brow.

"No, little one. I won't. Besides, I'll have my work cut out for me, helping all these -" he glanced to either side of him, "Loyalists settle in Nova Scotia. There may be unrest with the locals, for a short while. The peace must be kept while we find our place amongst them. The Loyalist militia that have accompanied me have already agreed that our main duty for now is to continue to protect the Loyalists of South Carolina, giving them a voice in Nova Scotia."

"Sounds wonderful," Lyra murmured happily, not truly listening.

He had retired!

No more campaigning, no more fighting for his life. He would be at her side, helping her to raise their children. Helping her to find their place in a new world, helping to build a new life together.

She smiled beatifically, traced his lips with a light finger, then drew his mouth to hers. The two kissed slowly, deeply, and the sounds of the women weeping all around them dwindled away.

She pressed one last peck to his lips then closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest with a deep sigh of contentment.

::::

_Man o' war = battle ship_


	75. Chapter 75 - Epilogue

**Epilogue**.

_Eighteen years later..._

The small family cemetery was on the Tavington's property, positioned on a gentle rise in the midst of a cluster of maple trees. It was a beautiful site for a last resting place.

Emily closed the wrought iron gate and linked her arm through Lyra's. The two walked away from the cemetery in companionable silence.

May and Nathan walked along the gravely path ahead of them toward the house, May's arm linked through Nathan's. The two gazed at each other adoringly, causing Emily and Lyra to share a small smile. For years after the children's births the two had jested that May and Nathan would make the perfect match, that they would one day be married. But it had been merely a jest! Nevertheless, the children had long since become sweethearts and now their mothers were busy planning their wedding.

Rebecca would not be there to see it, which saddened Lyra. As manipulative as the old witch could be, she had been audacious, carving out a life for her family in Nova Scotia. Lyra had always known the Simms family had connections throughout the Colonies. As it turned out Rebecca had built strong ties to the aristocrats of Nova Scotia as well. She had bullied and beguiled, manipulated and wheedled, wheeled and dealed until her family was settled and able to fend for themselves.

It was her grave the family had gone to visit that morning. It was the first anniversary of Rebecca's death and May had insisted they leave flowers on her great grandmother's grave.

Cole Simms, thank the Dear Lord above, had long since relocated to Britain. Shortly after arriving in Nova Scotia, in fact. It had been upward of seventeen years since that horrible man had darkened any of their doorsteps.

"How is Alice?" Lyra asked as they came into view of the grand manor house the Tavington's had built.

"Well. It will take a long time for her to recover, I believe," Emily replied sadly. Alice had borne two children for her husband James, boys both. Two _live_ children that is. She had suffered many miscarriages and the heart break and nerves of trying again and again only to suffer disappointment had taken its toll on Emily's younger sister. "James is supportive, however. He loves her dearly and tries his best to lift her spirits."

"Time heals all wounds, they say," Lyra said, feeling a little ridiculous, seeing that she had never suffered such grief. Thus far. The very thought of losing one of her children terrified her! Five children she had borne for William, each one hale, healthy and strong. Emily was the same - she had borne four children for Joseph, two boys and two girls. She had never suffered such grief either.

William had, as promised, made a home for her and their family. Feeling nostalgic, Lyra stopped to gaze at the lovely grand manor house for a moment. Emily glanced at her in puzzlement but Lyra shrugged and smiled, they continued along the path.

"How's Joey?"

"Busy," Emily replied. "He has many responsibilities now, I could almost wish he had not been made Governor."

"Almost?" Lyra teased.

"_Almost_," Emily giggled. "Oh, Richard Wilkins stopped by the other evening with Mrs. Wilkins. You'll never believe what she said to me this time -"

"Oh, don't get me started!" Lyra bemoaned. "Of all the women for him to settle down with, why did he have to choose a child of _Katie Collins_?"

"Come now," Emily laughed. "Don't let your dislike for Katie influence your opinion of her daughter."

"Are you joking?" Lyra grated. "I've tried, so hard, to like the girl _despite_ her mother. But she is simply horrid! The apple certainly did not fall far from the tree there!"

"I agree heartily! I think she seduced Richard, you know. She's a pretty thing, only twenty years old so she has youth on her side."

"Not to mention fifteen thousand pounds."

"I can't imagine that alone would entice him, I am certain Richard could have made a far better match with a far wealthier woman."

"True, the Wilkins have far more wealth than the Collins'. I do hope he isn't in love with her for it will only bring him heartache. I think she is the type to stray from her marriage bed, just like her mother was."

"Oh, I've heard the most scandalous things about Katie Collins! Now she is a widow - she is becoming notorious for her... ahem... Shall we say, her 'illicit activities'?"

"Don't I know it? She tried to tempt William to her bed again, did I tell you?"

Emily gasped. "No! When?"

"Oh, it was about five months ago now. Not two days after her husband died! William almost fell off his chair laughing while telling me about it. I was not so amused as he, I can tell you!" Lyra said primly, seething all over again. "I had a wee chat with Katie, she won't be making that mistake again."

"Why they had to settle here is beyond me. Why couldn't they have gone to England?"

"Or remained in South Carolina for the Patriots to get them," Lyra said viciously, and Emily laughed. Though in truth, it was not amusing at all, some of the things the Patriots had done to the Loyalist's who had stayed behind. Most of them faired well enough, some of the families were stripped of their properties and the like but for the most part, their support for the Crown had been forgiven and the 'Tories' had been allowed to live fairly alongside the Patriots. Some, however - those Loyalists who had family members in the militia (especially the Green Dragoons) had been treated violently indeed.

Up ahead, May laughed with delight at some quip of Nathan's. As Lyra watched, the young man reached down to pick a wild flower and then wound it through May's dark hair.

"You did well with him, Emily," Lyra said seriously. "You've done well with all your children."

"As have you," Emily replied. "No easy feat, raising five boys and a girl."

"Don't I know it. Especially a girl like May - so headstrong," she said as she waved a greeting at Sally who was crossing the yard with a basket in her arms - picking berries so their cook could make a pie, no doubt. Sally waved back and continued on. She had children of her own now, though she was bereft since Arcam's death a few years earlier. "Dear Lord, I don't know what William will say when he discovers May's _unconventional_ hobby."

"Yes, Dear Lord, let's hope he never finds that out!" Emily said emphatically. "Or if he does find out, let us hope it is after she is safely married to Nathan and no longer in William's reach."

Lyra nodded sagely in agreement.

:::::::

"You - are not - a boy!" Tavington raged, he cracked his palm to the top of his desk and his three children jumped. Edward, May and William stared straight ahead like troopers, their backs ramrod straight, waiting tensely as their father berated them. His main focus however, was May. "Learning to shoot a pistol, to fight with a sword! And you!" He rounded on Edward and William who had the grace to look abashed. "Teaching her! She is your _sister_, you are meant to look out for her, not lead her into foolishness!"

"It's not foolishness Papa!" May cried with outrage while her brothers wisely remained silent.

"Women do not tote pistols or swing swords!" He bellowed.

"You're so old fashioned, this is 1801! I'm not the only woman to learn -"

"Silence!" Tavington roared, sweeping his arm in a broad arc. May snapped her mouth shut, though her pale blue eyes flashed with fury. "You are not just any woman, you are my daughter! And I do not care what year it is - the only thing that's changed from my day to yours, is that stays are worn the wrong way around!"

Lyra tried not to giggle at the reference. Both of them quite enjoyed the new style of stays, now called corsets, which buttoned up at the front and made their lovemaking _infinitely_ easier. She sat by quietly, waiting for her husbands rage to dim before she intervened.

She spied Jonathan, Alexander and Matthew peeking through the crack in the door, all boys wide eyed.

_At least some of my children take after me, _she thought with satisfaction as she caught two pairs of brilliant green eyes. The three older children standing before her could have all been minted from the same coin, all dark haired with pale blue eyes. Hell, May even had her father's height just about, towering over Lyra, making the mother feel like the child. Jonathan and Alexander, however, had her white blonde hair and green eyes. The last of her brood, Matthew, was as much like his father as the eldest of his siblings.

Lyra, past her mid thirties, had matured into her looks and was more beautiful than ever. She noticed her husband gazing at her at times, he regularly told her she took his breath away. She turned her eyes from the children spying into the office from the corridor, again watching in silence as Tavington continued to berate May, Edward and Will. At almost fifty, her William was just as handsome as he ever was, though more lines surrounded his eyes and there was a scattering of grey sprinkled through his hair.

He was distinguished, she thought with a small smile.

Tavington had marched around the front of the desk to stand before his three children, pinning each one of them a baleful glare in turn.

"How long have you been training her for?" He asked Edward in a deceptively mild tone. Eddie was not fooled, his father's rage was in full swing and he damned well knew it. May finally subsided, pulling her gaze away from her father's piercing stare.

"Three years," Eddie mumbled.

Tavington stiffened.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" He asked softly, he leaned forward intently, tension in every line of his body. "I do not believe I heard you correctly."

Eddie wisely remained silent.

"So," Tavington took a step back from them. "Three years. You've managed to keep this foolishness from me for three _bloody_ years!"

The three siblings exchanged glances then quickly stared to the front again, three troopers being disciplined. Tavington regarded them coldly, watching as they tried not to squirm.

"It's a damned good thing your grandmother is no longer alive! What would she say of this?" William asked May. Not that he cared one bit what Rebecca would think, but when he say May flinch, he knew his point had been made. He continued before she could answer. "She would be horrified, thats what. And what will your Aunt's say? You are meant to marry soon - what of your husband? I'm fairly certain Nathan will not want a gun toting, sword wielding bride!"

As he watched, May's cheeks reddened - with anger not shame.

It did not occur to him to wonder how she managed to rope her brothers into such foolishness. May had a way about her, most of the trouble the boys got into was instigated by his only daughter.

Jesus Christ, what _would_ Emily make of this? And Joseph! Hell, he had become the Governor of Nova Scotia just last year! Not only was May a blood relative, but she was also engaged to Nathan, Joseph's son! Tavington had expected his children to behave in such manner that would bring _respect_ to their family and extended family - not shame and gossip!

What _would_ the gossips make of this? Tavington cringed, imagining reading of it in the daily broadsheets. Then again, knowing _his_ luck, his strong headed daughter will be setting a new trend among the women of Nova Scotia!

"I wish to discuss this with your mother," he said sternly. "Get out of my sight, now."

It was a race for the door, May got there first. All three tumbled out of their father's office, almost tripping on the three waiting outside.

Lyra sighed heavily and crossed the room to shut the door.

Tavington stalked to the side board and poured himself a whiskey.

"Training her to wield weapons," he tossed is head with fury. "How have they managed to keep this from me for three bloody years?"

"Well, they have spent an inordinate amount of time in the woods," Lyra replied carefully.

Tavington sniffed. "Well, it stops now. Lord, she is supposed to be attending the ball in two weeks time! Will she enter the ballroom with a pistol belt around her waist over her ball gown?"

Lyra giggled at the image. "I don't think she is so lost to propriety as that, honey."

"Was that a laugh I heard?" He asked her dangerously.

"Don't you take that tone with me!" She shot back. "And yes, it was a chuckle!"

"Lyra! I think you fail to see how serious this is! Training with swords and pistols! She is meant to be an accomplished and genteel young woman. I will not allow her to shame us at the Governor's ball!"

"Well, as the Governor is our cousin and loves May to distraction, I do not believe that is truly an issue," Lyra said tartly. "And of course May knows how to behave like a young aristocratic woman - she has had Eleanor as her Governess all these years after all! William, what are you worried about, what harm could come from this?"

"What will Nathan make of this?" William retorted, seizing on another argument. "They are supposed to marry in a few months!"

"Oh, William - he has known of her training all along!"

"What?! He already knows of her training? How do you know this?" His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Lyra, did _you_ already know of this?"

"Oh, William, do calm down." Lyra folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot with irritation.

"Jesus Christ Lyra!" He bellowed. He heard gasps coming from the corridor beyond the office door and knew his children were listening. He continued to bellow regardless. "You knew and never told me?"

"I knew you would not approve," she said simply. "I believe our young daughter will benefit in knowing how to protect herself. Imagine if I had been able to protect myself all those years ago, those traitors would have had a harder time taking me from Wilkins plantation. Hell - you would not have found it so easy to take me from that farm when we first met!"

"Of course I would have," he said dismissively. "I had in excess of two hundred Dragoons!"

He fell silent and tightened his lips as he gazed at his wife.

"You approve of this?" He asked finally.

"I would have put a stop to it long ago if I didn't. Honey, she is a beautiful young woman and as such, she could attract unwanted attention. She will not always have her brothers, or her formidable father, on hand to protect her. Times are so uncertain - "

"Times are always uncertain -"

"All the more reason to allow this! What harm can come from it, except for May taking a few bruises?"

"The harm, my angel, is that sweet May will believe herself invincible. She might take on more than she can chew, believing she is more capable than she is! Stronger than she is. She needs to know her limitations, she needs to know when to walk away from a challenge. She needs -"

"Her father to teach her," Lyra finished.

"Ridiculous," Tavington spat. "To teach a woman how to wield a sword? Sweet Lord above!"

"Well, it's up to you, of course," Lyra said. "But you must be made to understand how difficult this is for her. Womanly pursuits, no matter how accomplished in them she might be, hold no interest for her. And here are her brothers, receiving instruction from their father, and May misses out because she does not have one of these," Lyra placed her palm to the front of Tavington's breeches and gave him a gentle squeeze. She kept her hand there, slowly massaging him with a small smile.

"Vixen," his voice became husky, his eyes hooded. "This will not help you win the argument."

"I notice you are not pulling away..." She laughed at him as she continued torturing his hardening flesh. "Surely you can see your way clear to giving her a few lessons, my darling?"

"You are not playing fair," William growled.

"I never do," she pulled her hand away with a mischievous grin. "Your choice..."

Tavington growled low in his throat and stalked to the office door. He ripped it open and his six children gasped, staring at him wild eyed. He pointed a finger at May. "You! You will be ready for your first lessons, we begin training at the crack of dawn!"

_Let's see how she likes getting out of her nice warm bed in the middle of winter, that will stop this foolishness! _Tavington thought with extreme satisfaction.

"Yes, Papa! Oh, thank you Papa!" May squealed and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his close shaved cheek. "Thank you Mamma," she smiled at Lyra over William's shoulder. Tavington drew in a sharp breath of irritation and disentangled himself from his daughters arms.

"Off with you, all of you!" He swept his arm toward them and his children scattered in every direction. Shaking his head, he sighed with defeat as he closed, and locked, the door. He turned to face his wife, who had perched herself on the edge of his desk.

"Lift those skirts, little rebel," he growled as he advanced on her.

Lyra laughed with delight. It was a game the two of them played often, dating back to their first meeting when he did not believe she was a Loyalist. Usually they played it in the privacy of their chamber where he 'questioned' her endlessly while torturing her flesh with the most exquisite pleasure. It was safe enough to play it now - Tavington's children knew better than to disturb him in his office when the door was locked.

"Yes, my Lord," Lyra said meekly and feigned a shiver. She locked her eyes on his and pulled her skirts up slowly, over her knees, stopping at mid thigh.

Tavington watched avidly, hungrily. "More, little rebel," he commanded huskily. "Higher."

Lyra sighed dramatically and pulled her skirts up around her hips. Tavington pushed his breeches down his thighs, positioning himself at once between her legs.

"You aren't going to play first?" She pouted.

"My need for you is too great, little rebel," he smiled down at her, then promptly thrust firmly inside of her with a heavy sigh. "Besides, you are quite ready for me."

"I always am," she wrapped her legs around his hips and locked her ankles. "Tonight, I expect to be questioned, Colonel."

"You will be, most harshly," Tavington promised as he began to rock his hips back and forth. His lips sought hers, his fingers winding through her hair. He tilted his head to the side, his tongue sliding between her parted lips. "My hot little temptress, you will be."

All speech ceased as he began snapping his hips back and forth, gliding almost out of her before thrusting back in, burying himself to the hilt. The sounds of their panting filled the room, their moist kisses also. They groped at one another, clutching, holding, striving for that exquisite release. Tavington pushed her bodily onto the top of the desk and pinned her there. His lips drifted to her neck, she turned her head to the side with a heavy sigh as his tongue tasted her skin.

"Oh, William... Harder... Oh, William!" She bucked in a frenzy now, moaning a low wail as she reached climax.

"Christ," he muttered. "Agh - Christ!" There was no more exquisite feeling in the world than her spasms during the throes of climax. He held still as his cock was engulfed, her walls inside quivering around him. He held his breath as he climaxed, then crashed his lips to hers with a long, drawn out kiss.

William collapsed on top of his wife, both breathing heavily while they calmed. He sighed heavily and raised himself above her, kissing her more gently now their need had been eased.

"So," he murmured eventually with resignation. "May."

"Hmm mmm," Lyra agreed. "Aren't you glad we have five sons and only one daughter?"

"Daughter?" He scoffed as he stood and withdrew his spent member. He cleaned himself with a strip of linen. "I do not have a daughter, I have _six_ sons."

Lyra laughed and sat up, reaching up to kiss him. "It must be an interesting feeling, the only child of the six of them who is _exactly_ like you, turned out to be your daughter."

"Hmm, it is an interesting feeling," he agreed as he helped Lyra off the table. "She'd make an excellent soldier."

"Perhaps I'll suggest she enlist," she said loftily as she headed toward the door.

"You most certainly will not!" He said with feigned severity as he caught her about her waist and spun her to face him. He lifted her off her feet to kiss her and she melted against him.

"Oh," she breathed. "Perhaps we can retire to our chamber now, to begin that questioning..."

"Already?" He laughed. "We only just finished!"

"What can I say? My need for you is too great, little soldier," she drew away from him and unlocked the door.

"Little soldier?" he mouthed, bewildered. "Little?"

Lyra giggled as she stuck her head into the foyer beyond, peering around for her children.

"Well, not so little, perhaps," she assured him. She shot him a desirous glance and stepped out into the corridor. She cast more seductive glances over her shoulder to be sure he was following.

Which, of course, he was. He followed his wife up the thick carpeted stairs, down the corridors, all the way to their bed chamber.

::

Unfortunately for William, his attempt to dissuade his daughter from her training by getting her up at the crack of dawn in the middle of winter, fell flat. The following morning, and every one thereafter, May dragged her father out of his warm bed and trained with him until nearly mid day for two months until her wedding day. She learned more from her father in those two months than she did in the three years she had trained with her brothers.

On her wedding night, Nathan had had to be gentle with his bride, whose body was covered with bruises. William had refused to go easy on her simply because she was a woman. As the newly married couple lived nearby, the training continued at May's insistence.

Mrs. Eleanor Bryant watched it all with bemusement, but made no move to try and stop her head strong charge. Even with May grown and no more girls to care for in Lyra's household, Eleanor opted to stay living with the family. She could not fathom leaving Lyra to begin somewhere anew. Besides, with May newly wed, there was bound to be another generation of girls to care for.

Added to that, there was a particularly handsome older gentleman - Canadian borne and bred, who had been courting Eleanor for many years. At almost sixty years of age, Eleanor began to wonder if it was time to remarry.

:::::::::::

_Another year on:_

"Are you sure you want to do this?" William asked Edward as he drew rein, slowing his horse to a stop. Only five months separated the brothers, and although different women bore them, they looked enough alike to often be mistaken for twins.

Edward sighed heavily as he gazed at the sign at the edge of the vast plantation. The sun bore down on the young men, though their hats shaded them and there was a nice breeze helping to keep the worst of the heat at bay.

"Fresh Water Plantation" the words on the sign read. He cast his gaze across the tall tobacco plants to the large manor house over yonder.

"My mother is in there," Edward murmured.

"Your mother is back home in Canada, Eddie," William said primly.

"Why did you bother coming with me at all if you were going to try and talk me out of it? And at the last bloody moment, too!" Edward snapped at his brother testily. The two were as close as two brothers could be, and as such they often took their nerves out on each other.

"To keep you out of trouble, of course," William smirked. It was the same smirk his father often flashed when he was being particularly belligerent. The same as Edward's, for that matter.

"I love Mamma as much as you do, Will. She had the raising of me and no one could replace her in my heart. But I need to know... I need to meet _her_," Edward trailed off. "Besides, have you forgotten it was Mamma who suggested this?"

"Yes, and didn't father have an apoplexy? Christ, that man's got a temper."

"Yeah, and you inherited it," Edward quipped.

"And of course, _you_ escaped it..." William rolled his eyes. The trading of quips was mostly a stalling for time, the brothers knew. Edward gazed toward the house again. "The infamous Ghost is in there, he might not be too pleased to have the Butcher's sons come to call."

"I am no more afraid of him than father is!" Edward flared up at once, in a typical display of Tavington temper. "Besides, he must be upwards of sixty years now. An old man."

Still, he patted at his breast where he kept a dagger concealed, ensuring it was still there, as well as checking on his pistol and musket.

Seeing this, William barked a laugh then began checking his own weapons.

"We should have bought May," Edward observed. "We'd seem less threatening with her here and she was in a right rage when she learned we'd be leaving her back home while we embarked on our grand adventure."

"She's expecting a baby!" William said indigently. "She can hardly complain that we've left her out of this. Besides, some adventure, we could very well lose our lives today."

"The Ghost isn't going to kill us," Edward scoffed.

"Not you, perhaps. _Your_ mother wouldn't allow it. I don't have the same protection, however..." William trailed off, feeling a little apprehensive. The Ghost would not kill Charlotte Wilkins child, but Lyra Tavington's... William shuddered and checked his weapons again. "Well?" He asked a little impatiently, then his voice softened as he continued, "we can keep going, ride on through to Wakefield and then on to Charles Town. Or, we can ride through those two oaks there, and venture up the lane and ask to see Mrs. Charlotte Wilkins. What's it to be?"

"I did not come all this way, to ride on now. Mamma insists that Charlotte will want to know me and her letter intimated as much," he patted his breast again, where he kept the letter from his mother written twenty years previous, telling him to come and seek her some day, that he would never be turned away. "I am going to do this, right now. You don't have to come - you can wait here on the road -"

"The Hell I will," William growled. "I've got your back, Eddie."

"I know," Edward smiled and edged his horse forward, his brother falling in beside him.

They made their slow way up the long lane leading directly toward the house. The small figures on the porch grew larger and more distinct as the two young men drew closer. Edward saw two blonde haired women, who had been sitting at their work - shelling peas - rise from their chairs and walk toward the steps. One was older than the other, she held her hand over her eyes to shade the glare of the sun as she watched the riders approach.

The other woman was much younger, closer to Edward and William's age, perhaps a couple years older. She was pretty, he saw, with her hair in braids and pinned neatly under her cap, showing off her long neck. No, not pretty, beautiful. He shared a quick smirk with William, reading each other's thoughts. Yes, she was worthy of the hot blooded brother's attentions, they would give her a merry chase.

But no, he was not there to seduce pretty girls. When he turned back to the women, it was the older he gazed at.

The woman who must be his mother. Edward watched as they climbed down the steps of the porch, both studying the men in turn. Then the older woman suddenly gave a sobbing gasp, she pressed her hands to her mouth and Edward was close enough now to see tears spring to her eyes.

Despite the two brother's near mirror resemblance, Charlotte knew which was her son, for Edward was gazing at her while William was gazing at the young woman and his surroundings with interest. She cried out and stumbled forward, almost tripping over her skirts. Edward was off his horse in an instant, catching his mother from falling.

"Oh, my dear Lord," Charlotte wept inconsolably as Edward pulled her into his arms.

He did not remember her, not one little bit. Lyra had always been his mother and always would be. But the woman in his arms was showing such raw emotion that he could not help but be moved by her.

"Oh, my son," she gasped and clutched him around the barrel of his chest, holding on for dear life. "Oh, my son."

"There, there," he murmured, trying to calm the weeping woman, patting her back and whispering comfort as his father had done him when Edward was a little boy. He looked past her toward the young woman, who had her hands over her mouth, tears leaving a silent trail down her cheeks. She seemed to understand quite well who Edward was even if he did not know her. Another young woman came onto the porch, younger again - sixteen years perhaps.

A man appeared from the house. He was tall with blue eyes and his brown hair tied back in a queue.

Edward and William tensed at once as the Ghost came forward slowly, climbed down the steps and whispered to the young women. Both of them swallowed and nodded, then turned away to head back into the house. The Ghost stayed several yards back, watching in silence.

"Oh, I never thought to see you again," Charlotte said when she could get the words past her sobs, her head was still buried against his hard chest. "I didn't want to leave you, Edward. I didn't, I swear. I had to go, and I wanted to take you with me but there was no possible way. You belonged to your father by then, I had no choice. Please forgive me, oh my darling son, please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive," Edward replied gruffly, tightening his hold on her. His eyes caught Benjamin Martin's cold eyes but the man was keeping his distance, eyeing the two youths warily but calmly. William kept his hands resolutely at his sides, to show they were not there for any sinister purpose, and Benjamin folded his arms across his chest, offering them the same, unthreatening stance.

Charlotte, in her despairing happiness, noticed none of it, of course. She was a woman, not a warrior. William and Edward had been taught by their father to fight since they were old enough to hold wooden daggers.

It was a damned good thing they'd had to leave May behind. Not only because she was married and expecting, but because her temper was hotter than William's and Edward's put together and most of the time, when the trio got into trouble, it was because of May.

Nevertheless, the Ghost was not making any threatening moves and Edward tried to relax.

Charlotte finally lifted her head, though she stayed in the circle of his arms.

"Let me look at you," she whispered and started patting his shoulders, his chest, his arms, as though checking for wounds. "Are you well? Does your mother feed you enough? Of course she does, look at you, you're as big as an ox!"

"An ox?" He raised an eyebrow with amusement. "I've been called many things, but never an ox..."

Charlotte laughed, a musical tinkling sort of sound, quiet pleasant to the ears.

"And who is this?" She asked in a friendly tone, though she could not help but know exactly who William was.

"My brother," Edward said, somewhat defensively, making it clear he would suffer no insults. "William Tavington."

"Well, welcome to Fresh Water, young Master Tavington," Charlotte said as William gave her a bow. "You do not have much of your mother in you."

"No, Madam. I take after my father."

"In looks only, I hope," Benjamin said softly from where he stood near the porch.

The brothers tensed as one and exchanged a glance but decided to ignore the jibe. They had heard the stories, their father had done the Ghost much harm before their uneasy truce, made before the war had even ended. The Ghost was allowed his hatred of Colonel William Tavington, the Butcher of the colonies had deserved it.

"I take after my father in many ways," William said carefully. "We both do. We both take after our mother as well."

"Good to hear. Your mother was a fine woman."

"She still is," Edward replied, uneasily in case he hurt Charlotte's feelings.

"Twenty years..." Charlotte said as she wiped her tears. She had stopped crying but her eyes were still red and her face still wet. "You must come inside, both of you. I have twenty years to catch up on and you have your sisters to meet -"

"Sisters!" Edward exclaimed, chagrined - he had been admiring that beautiful young woman and not the way a brother should admire his sister!

"Charlotte!" Benjamin's voice lashed out like a whip. Suddenly tense all over, he glared at Charlotte who had invited the sons of his enemy into his home.

"Benjamin, this is my home too. I have nowhere else I can sit and chat with my son, so unless you expect me to spend the entire visit out here in the sun, I suggest you move out of my way."

The two glared at each other before Benjamin finally drew a reluctant breath.

"I'll have Abigale make tea," he muttered as he stomped into the house.

When he disappeared inside, William spoke up hesitantly.

"Perhaps I should head back to the small village we passed a while back and seek lodgings for the night."

"Don't be ridiculous," Charlotte said at once. "This is awkward, I'll say that truthfully. But Benjamin will come around. The two of you are not your father."

"That's just it," William said a little sharply. "We both love our father, Mrs. Wilkins. I understand he has caused you and yours great harm in the past but I will suffer no insults to his character."

"Nor will I," Edward said firmly.

"And you will receive none," Charlotte assured them both. "We simply will not speak of him. Oh, and it's Mrs. Selton, young William. I took my previous husband's name when my marriage to James ended in divorce."

She curled her arm through Edward's and began to lead the way toward the house.

"You never married... Mr. Martin?" Edward asked carefully.

"No," she said shortly. "I love him, and have borne him children. We own this house together - it was my wealth as much as his that enabled us to build it and start again. But I was never able to marry him after..." She swallowed and shot him a glance. "I returned to him, but I could never really forgive him for taking you from me."

"I understand," Edward nodded, a warm feeling suffused him and he smiled warmly down at his mother. He did not have far to look, she was far taller than his other mother, Lyra. He had heard that story as well, of how the Ghost had taken him from his mother before she had even had a chance to hold him in her arms. It felt good to know that she hadn't instantly forgiven the Ghost and married him, after ripping Edward from her.

"Mamma sends her greetings," he told Charlotte now as she led the way to the small and blessedly cool parlor. "My saddle bags are packed to bursting with charcoal drawings - portraits of me as a child. She did many as I grew up and she wanted me to give them to you."

"Oh, bless her," Charlotte sat down and patted the seat, inviting him to sit beside her. William took a seat opposite them.

Mother and son entered into a lively conversation, trying to fill each other in on the last twenty years. Tea was served, the Ghost came and went. Charlotte's other children - four daughters ranging from ten to sixteen - were presented to Edward, he was introduced to all of them as their brother. They were all suitably excited and stayed to chat until their duties called them away. The young woman he had spied on the porch entered. She took a seat adjacent to them with a wary smile and again Edward exchanged that 'look' with his brother.

As it turned out, the young woman was not his sister. Still, Susan Martin was his cousin and as such, was still off limits.

Susan was the only child of Martin's first marriage to still be living at home, and at twenty four years old, as yet unwed. Edward spoke to her politely, covering his disappointment that he shared a blood bond with the young woman. He caught his brother's gaze, saw the glint in William's pale blue eyes, and Edward stifled a groan. William was, in no way, related to the young woman. Sensing trouble a-brewin', Edward laughed under his breath and concentrated on what his mother was asking him.

"Yes, I have it right here," Edward answered Charlotte's question. He tapped his belt pouch, where he kept the wedding band his mother had left with the precious letter. "I have yet to find the perfect woman, however," he smiled.

"Take your time is all I can say!" Charlotte laughed, so giddy with happiness to have her son returned to her, that she did not notice Susan and William's subtle flirting. "Oh, Edward, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you would come all this way to see me. I know Lyra raised you and she seems to have done a darned fine job. She is your mother, but you have to know... I have missed you, so much, all these years," her voice quivered again, her eyes brimmed and tears once again flowed down her cheeks. Edward smiled, kind and warm, and took hold of her hand. "You'll stay, won't you? Oh, please say you will. There is no need for you to get lodgings in the village. We have plenty of empty rooms upstairs, what with my nephews all grown and married. Please say you will."

Edward exchanged an uncertain glance with William. Susan, however, was leaning forward eagerly. Her gaze seemed to soak in the sight of William and Edward decided ruefully it wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't been a blood relative. Judging by the adoring gaze she bestowed upon his brother, she would have chosen William in an instant. He turned back to Charlotte.

"Well, we will of course, but..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"I told you, this is my house too and I want you near to me for as long as you are here."

"How long will that be, exactly?" A gruff voice asked from the doorway. All eyes turned to Benjamin Martin, who was drying his hands on a clean towel.

"I do not know, Sir. We weren't certain of our reception here and had planned to head on to Charles Town if..." Edward glanced at Charlotte, whose gaze made it clear there was no 'if', she never would have sent him away. She had said he would always be welcomed and it seemed she had meant it. "It is my father's fiftieth birthday soon, my mother is organizing a ball to be held in his honor and she said if we missed it she'd tan our hides."

Charlotte laughed her tinkling musical laugh. "Oh, she hasn't changed a bit! Threatening grown boys like yourselves!"

"We're both more afraid of her than father," William confided. "We're expected back in three months from now. We were going to stay in America for about two and a half months before heading back home to Canada."

"Two months!" Charlotte cried with joy. "Oh, you must stay here, you must! Ben?" She whirled to face him again and Benjamin tightened his lips.

He gazed at the woman he loved. The woman who, to this very day, refused to marry him, because she had never truly forgiven him for taking her son from her. The boy who now sat at her side, the grown man whose entire life she had missed because she had had to abandon him. If Benjamin had never taken the boy from her in the first place, it would have been Charlotte raising him, alongside his own children, in Gullah. Besides, this was her house as well. He sighed heavily.

"Young man," he addressed William. "You any good at swinging an axe? Winter is on its way and with my sons gone, I've got my work cut out for me."

"I can swing an axe, Sir," William nodded. He had seen the workmen on the property, the farm was not lacking for hired help. But it was clear to William that Benjamin was inviting them to stay in his way, on his terms. If this was what Edward wanted then William decided he could work for his keep, despite the coin bulging his pockets and his wealthy parents who could provide him more. He was no stranger to hard work.

"Then they can stay," Benjamin said simply, addressing Charlotte. He did not notice the _very_ warm looks William and Susan exchanged, as soon as his gaze was averted.

William caught Susan's eyes. Two whole months here with such a young beauty... She eyed him back with interest, a twinkle in her eye and a small smile playing about the corners of her mouth. He grinned back and felt a tightening in his groin and a warm flush suffuse him.

This was going to prove be a _very_ pleasurable summer indeed.

:::::::

_A/N: All finished! I'm going to crawl into a dark and quiet corner to bawl my eyes out now. Hehehe! Thank you to every one who followed this story. _

_Kimmy: I think this is probably the end for Tavi and Lyra... They live happily ever after now. Their __children, however... I have a picture in my mind of Benjamin chasing after William with a pitchfork for getting Susan pregnant! LOL  
_

_Lisette: I hope you enjoyed the epilogue! Thanks for all your reviews. I'm grateful to everyone who reviewed, of course, but you had read the original story before I re-worked it and it was a lovely surprise to see you were still following it, way back when! :-)_

_Bain: Thanks again for all your help, revising chapters and cracking the whip! :-)_


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